


Bless the Fallen

by mordelle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Blood and Violence, Chapters contain art, Character Death, Complete, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Heavy Angst, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, M/M, Minor Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Mostly Bottom Aziraphale, Mostly top Crowley, Non-Consensual Touching, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Panic, Plot, Plot Twists, Protective Gabriel, Rebellion, Suicidal Thoughts, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), adam ends the world, im not really sorry about the cliffhangers, its angsty but not without purpose so do not be too afraid, redeemed Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-10-27 04:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 82,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/pseuds/mordelle
Summary: After Crowley's presumed destruction, Aziraphale is recruited by Beelzebub and the rebels to Fall so that he may reap his vengeance on Lucifer and end his own misery in the process. But before he can get into Satan's inner circle to do the deed, he must pass a test that may very well change where his loyalties lie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be every Monday.
> 
> Thank you beta's: Azeran and Tim!

* * *

No one was really keeping track of time anymore. After all, it was hard to tell day from night with the sun and moon obscured from all of the pollution. War was never-ending. Famine was just the new reality for the scant humans that were left. Death. Death was everywhere. 

Demons ruled the world now. 

It wasn't meant to be this way. Adam really thought he was going to build a better world. He wondered now as he looked over his dominion, what his friends were doing. Was Pepper still ruling Asia? Did Wensleydale develop an American accent? Did Brian still like ice cream? Did ice cream even exist? 

Did they still hate him? 

Adam wondered where God was. If She ever existed, as he was told, why did she allow him to destroy the world She supposedly loved? Why did She abandon her angels? At least Satan was there when it all happened. At least his father had led the battle. At least he gave them all a choice after he had won the Great War.

Fall, or be destroyed.

"Master Young." A familiar, polite voice roused Adam from his musings. "It's good to see you awake. Your slumber was quite lengthy this time compared to the others."

"How long?" He kept his back to the only person he felt he could trust. The man who pulled the trigger that day. Who may have averted Armageddon had the brick gone through his boyish skull instead of the clouds.

"Twenty years, give or take, I think. Though I was never one to keep up with the times. So."

Adam Young, the Antichrist, the Adversary, the Destroyer of Worlds, closed his eyes, felt the heaviness of all he had caused on his child-like shoulders, and felt tired. He was not a child anymore, though his body stayed frozen in time. How old was he now, he wondered. Fifty? Eighty? Five hundred years old? 

Adam stood at the precipice of his tower, overlooking the dark kingdom hundreds of feet below him. "Did you tell my friends I was awake?"

"They are aware, my Lord."

"Please don't call me that, Aziraphale." 

Adam finally turned around and faced the immortal being whose voice always seemed to bring him some comfort, though it was colder than when he'd first met him.

"Only if you stop calling me _ that, _" he replied primly. 

The kindness in his voice wasn't the only thing that Adam missed about the former angel. The tightness in his chest always grew more apparent when he looked at him. Though he'd only known Aziraphale for a handful of moments before the world ended, he had gotten a glimpse of all the years he'd spent on Earth. He and...

"Right, sorry," he smiled weakly, "Azirath. I forget."

"That excuse has run its course, I believe, Adam." He offered a twitch of his mouth in place of a smile. 

He never smiled anymore. If he did, whoever it was aimed at would do better to run for their lives. 

Adam took stock of the demon before him. The once platinum-blond curls were now silver tresses, combed straight and slick behind him, past his shoulders. Not one strand out of place. His skin was a pale white, never to flush pink again. His once soft physique was hardened, the body of a soldier. He wore a modern black lounge suit, a black tie, and a red shirt underneath that matched the irises of his eyes.

"I've heard things... Azirath. Things about you." Adam swallowed down his grief. "I hear you've gained my father's favour. That promotion is soon in order."

Azirath bowed stiffly, hands clasped behind his back. "From your mouth to Satan's ears." He stood erect once more. "A feat I have hoped to accomplish for quite some time now. May the rumours ring true."

Adam nodded grimly. "I've also heard of the..." he stifled a shudder, "accomplishments that have made this possible."

Azirath blinked once, a sign he understood his meaning. His expression gave nothing else away. A heavy pause floated between them.

Adam shook his head in disappointment. "What would Cr-"

"Best let the dead lie," Azirath interrupted quickly, his eyes glowed slightly in warning, his voice never wavering. "Will you be attending the Recognition Ceremony? Is that why you wished to see me?"

"I wished to see you because I think you're the only friend I have left," Adam said dryly, though his heart threatened to break. "Except for Dog."

The little Hell Hound by his side barked once in assent.

Azirath cast his eyes to the ground briefly before giving Adam a small nod. "I'm sorry to hear that." He really was. Because that meant Adam had no friends at all. Because Azirath was a friend to no one. Not anymore. "In any case, it's been a pleasure, as always, but I do have duties to attend to."

Adam nodded. "I might stay awake for a bit. Maybe send another letter to the Them. Can we talk again soon? Maybe have tea, like before?"

Azirath bowed deeply this time. "As you wish. My door is always open to you." Not that he had a choice in the matter.

"Thank you, Aziraph... Azirath." 

Adam turned his back to the demon once more.

Azirath turned on his heel and marched with purpose. Along the way, he passed many who would jump out of his way fearfully, bow, and shout "Hail Satan." To which he'd respond in kind without pause. 

There was good reason to fear any Duke of New Earth, but Azirath, in particular, inspired a healthy dose of terror in demons both on Earth and in Hell. At first, right after the end of the world, demons scoffed at the clean, well-mannered, former Principality. Azirath was quick to teach them all a critical lesson; manners and courtesy have absolutely nothing to do with softness. They still found him odd. He wasn't like the other demons at all with his refined taste in clothes, his impeccable posture, his eloquent speech, and his stranger still particularities in singling out red-headed humans to serve him in whatever went on behind his chamber doors. 

All that time spent on Earth, he'd gone native, they would say, and no one thought twice about the peculiar Duke again. Not if they intended to continue living.

Azirath's guards joined him as soon as he reached the ground floor. Being invited to Satan's monstrosity of a castle, that had been built on the back of demons and humans alike, was always a tedious affair. Being summoned all the way up to the tallest tower was particularly annoying. All those stairs! _ Quite tedious _, Azirath thought.

"Azirath!" Called a familiar voice.

Azirath halted as he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Hastur." He turned to face the Duke of Hell who charged right into his personal space. His guards made a move to stop him, but Azirath waved a hand dismissively.

"If you think you're going to get the promotion, think again! I've been playing this game much longer than you have," he spat with an evil smile.

Azirath seemed unafflicted and stepped forward, merely inches away from Hastur's nose. "Rewards are based on merits, not time on the job," he replied simply. "I have just as much a chance to win Satan's favour as you, though I must say," he gave him a closed mouth grin, "my rooms on the six-hundredth and sixty-sixth floor have a spectacular view."

Hastur spluttered. "Six-hun-- you bastard," he groused with jealousy. "Those were my rooms! They gave them to you?!"

"Oh, my dear fellow," Azirath replied with a mild pout, "Had I only known to whom those rooms were originally assigned to you, I would have declined."

Hastur shot a hand to Azirath's throat, only to flinch back suddenly with a yelp.

"My, my," Azirath lamented as a red-bellied black snake emerged from his coat, neck flared and ready to strike again. "Scarlet, that wasn't very polite, now was it?" He crooned lovingly while he tickled her under her jaw. "He should learn to keep his filthy little hands to himself. Or lose them." 

"Ow! That fucking--"

"Now, now, Hastur, name-calling is really beneath our status, don't you agree?" Azirath made an about-face and continued his trek toward the exit. "You should get that looked at," he called over his shoulder, "it would be most inconvenient if you discorporated before you see me get my promotion. Though it seems a new body is in order for you anyway, reeking as you do."

"Oh, you'll pay, you pansy bastard!" Hastur cradled his hand gingerly and tried not to whimper too loudly.

* * *

For a Prince of Hell to slip out of Satan's castle unnoticed was an almost impossible task, yet Beelzebub had managed it. Not a moment too soon either. They knew that Azirath loathed tardiness. He considered it rude. A high offence for him that not many got away with. It was lucky that Beelzebub was a whole rank above him and part of the Dark Council to boot, or Azirath may have caused them some trouble already.

They had matched up their respective watches ages ago in order to meet discreetly in moments like these, and he was due to arrive any second.

The prince had chosen the home of a human, in what was known as the slums, for their meeting place. No one would think to look for them here. It was almost a perfect location for them, they had thought, until they realized that the place also housed a young woman with bright red hair. 

"Make yourself scarce, woman," Beelzebub commanded. "And cover your head."

They could not afford any distractions.

"Yes, milord," she breathed and ran to the kitchen. 

Beelzebub tapped their sharp nails on the table they were seated at, listening to the murmurs coming from the women preparing their miserable meal. Gossip was always good to keep track of so they honed in on their conversation.

"They say that the Duke spent so much time on Earth pretending to be human that his body grew accustomed to needing food."

"Rubbish. Demons don't need to eat. Or drink. Or breathe. Stop spreading nonsense. If they do anything like that it's because they fancy it."

"Satan eats. I've seen him."

"Shush! Don't say that name here, if you can help it."

"Is it true that demons don't have genitals?"

"Are you stupid?"

"Sally, cover your head!"

"I can't find my shawl!"

A light breeze swept through, and Azirath stood before Beelzebub with a slight bow in greeting.

"Salutations, my lord." One could almost mistake his tone for sounding merry. 

"Azirath," Beelzebub acknowledged. "Have a seat."

"Interesting meeting place." Azirath turned up his nose and gazed around the bare, filthy room as he sat down. His red eyes landed on blue. At least the prince had banished the flies this time. 

"The ceremony is in three days. Are you ready?" Beelzebub asked gravely.

"As ready as ever," he replied bored with a sniff.

The prince shook their head. "I can't stress enough how this may be our only chance," they ground through their teeth.

"Yes, yes." He waved off their concern. "I'm quite certain I'll get the job."

"I know you will. I've been informed already."

Azirath raised their eyebrows in mild surprise. "Do you have it, then?" He asked, discreetly.

"I do." Beelzebub glanced around the room and searched for enemies, or nosy humans then pulled out a box and slid it across the table.

Azirath stared at the box for a moment before gently placing his perfectly manicured fingers on it and opened it. A golden flask lay within, and he felt his breath catch. The last time he'd made a transaction like this, it was the other way around and with a different demon entirely.

He took a steadying breath to dispel the memory. "Blessed by a priest? Catholic I hope. Or a Buddhist monk? Those are the best. Though probably extinct..."

"Blessed by an angel."

Azirath snapped his red eyes to the prince.

"An archangel," Beelzebub added for good measure. They watched as Azirath's eyes glowed with malice. 

"Who?" He asked, as if he were just mildly curious.

"Doesn't matter."

"Gabriel then. I know you're protecting him," he smiled. "I can't imagine why." He narrowed his eyes and smiled wider, showing some teeth this time. "Unless you're taken with him? Hm?"

"Shut it." They kept their calm, their objective of the utmost importance.

"Have you ever heard of the term," Azirath chimed as he tapped his fingers on the table, "star-crossed lovers?" He smiled sadly. "From Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. It's used to describe relationships destined to end in tragedy."

Beelzebub smirked and leaned forward. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Azirath kept his polite and deadly smile, but his nose twitched and his nostrils flared. "Did you happen to glean any information from my dear, former supervisor that might be of interest to me?"

"He didn't destroy Crowley," they answered flatly and leaned back in their chair.

Azirath had flinched at the sound of his name. "Oh?" He flicked a crumb off the table. "And you believe him?" 

"I do."

The Duke scoffed and shook his head. 

"Azirath, I need to know that our goals are still in alignment."

Azirath sat up straighter and glanced around the room again. His eyes landed on the group of women in the kitchen. "Of course they are. Why would I be here otherwise?"

"You've been rather... zealous over the last couple centuries. Maybe you've grown to like your new role. Maybe you've aligned yourself with Satan's ideology, after all."

His eyes were glued to the woman in the shawl. "Hardly."

Beelzebub grew aware of where his gaze landed. "You could be destroyed on this mission, you are aware?" 

Azirath was still as a statue, his eyes giving off a slight red glow, his pupils growing wide when he caught a small flash of auburn. "My indifference over that fact is precisely why you chose me to do this."

The distraction was apparent and made Beelzebub nervous. "Azirath, I want him destroyed as much as you do."

"Doubt that," he muttered.

"If you can't get a clean shot at the ceremony, you must refrain and wait for another opportunity. Are you listening to me?" They slammed their hand on the table.

Azirath whipped their attention back to the prince. "Do you think me stupid?" He looked down at the box and took it gently, placing it inside a leather satchel he manifested from thin air.

"I just don't want your thirst for vengeance to make you rash."

He scoffed again. "Me? Rash? We're immortal, Beelzebub. We have _ oodles _ of time for thwarting, conspiring," he gave them half-smile, " _ fraternizing _ with angels, and all that." When Beelzebub gave him nothing but a bored expression, he stood up and adjusted his sleeves. "Now, if you'll excuse me, something has come up. We're done here, yes?"

Beelzebub watched him look toward the kitchen impatiently. "You risk much with these temptations of yours, you know? I can't keep covering for you."

"You can. And you will," he retorted matter-of-factly. "Vive la révolution," he finished with faux enthusiasm and stalked to his target.

Sally worked as quickly as she could. The shawl was proving tricky, her hair was so long and cascaded in waves. It was challenging to manage on the best of days! Imagine trying to get a handle on her unruly mane under such distress! Rumour had it that the Duke paid handsomely for ginger slaves, men and women alike. No one knew exactly what happened to the Duke's charges, only that they were never seen again. He was a spy for the rebels, their side, but a demon could never be trusted. So it was with great anxiety that Sally found herself face to face with the demon she'd only heard stories about since she was a child. 

"Hello," Azirath greeted the wide-eyed woman with as much warmth as he could muster, which wasn't much these days. 

With nothing but a look, the other women scattered.

The poor woman dropped a bowl of flour and stammered. "H-h-sorry, sir, I mean, Duke, sir. He-hello." 

They both made to pick up the bowl, but Azirath was quicker. He was so close, and Sally couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, despite his eyes that were the colour of blood. She'd never met anyone so clean and nicely dressed.

"Here you are, dear lady." He held out the bowl for her to take.

With trembling hands, she took it. "Th-thank you."

"Tell me," he said with a slight air of seduction, "why do you cover," he reached for her shawl and tugged it free, "such lovely locks from the world?"

The shawl came away quickly. It had already been lopsided and falling. He folded it neatly and offered it to her. She took it as well, fingers brushing lightly against his.

"I, erm, Lord Beelzebub said--"

"I see." He stepped closer. "I will not harm you, my dear. I give you my word. Though I know it doesn't mean much coming from my _ kind," _he sneered. "What is your name?"

"Sally, sir." She made an awful attempt at a curtsy.

"Is this your home?" He motioned around the shack they were in. 

"No, sir, I mean, yes. Mrs Flint took me in."

"Ah, so you have no family of your own?" Azirath inquired, even more interested.

"I'm not sure. I had a brother, but we got separated..."

The demon nodded solemnly. "You owe this family a debt?"

"Yes, sir."

Azirath took a breath and eyed her hair, left eye twitching for a moment. "I wouldn't be a very good demon if I didn't try to _ tempt _ you into serving _ me _ instead." He smiled weakly. "My home is quite lovely. You'll be well-fed, the best food money can buy. Clean water to drink and bathe with. I will pay your debt to this family, of course. What say you?"

Clean water? Food? _ Bathing? _ "Wha-what would my duties be?"

He shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. "We can discuss that later. Say, have you ever seen a book?"

Sally's eyes widened further. "No, sir."

"Ah!" He seemed genuinely pleased. "I have an _ extensive _ collection. I'd love to show them to you," he purred.

Sally twisted her apron in her hands with uncertainty.

"Come now," he insisted, "shelter, delectable meals, clean water, good wine, a warm hearth. Surely that's something you'd never hope to see in your short mortal life."

The thought of all those wonderful things made her eyes water. "And... you won't... hurt me?"

"Upon my honour," he crossed his heart. 

Such a handsome, well-mannered man. Everything about him, save the eyes, was something out of a fairytale. A prince come to rescue her. 

"All right," she breathed.

"Excellent." He preened and clapped his hands. "Shall we then?" He extended his palm and waited.

With a deep breath and a shaky hand, Sally sold her soul to a devil.

* * *

**AN POST NOTES: **

**Thank you for joining me on my purely self-indulgent and dark whim! If you've read Ineffable Timing, I'm using my same HC. As you may have guessed from this chapter and my tags, there will be lots. Of. Angst. Dialogue heavy. And Satan is very... twisted. There will be violence, dark musings, and sex. So, you have been warned! This is my darkest fic yet, but those of you who have read my other stuff know that I'm a sap and a hopeless romantic... so... without giving anything away... there may be hope for our favorite characters yet.**

**I'd still love a Brit-picker! Haven't found one yet!**

**I will try to post every Monday and post some art as well. The reason I'm posting now is because I'm starting a 10 week writing class and I have exactly 10 chapters of this fic completed. So, It'll motivate me to finish this up at about 15 chapters or so... especially if I've got some cheerleaders who leave me lovely comments. ;)**

**No hate please. If this isn't your cup of tea, just be polite and read my other angsty GO fic that is not as dark and gloomy, [INEFFABLE TIMING](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810582/chapters/46905922).**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a bit early because I am sick with a cold. I've been drawing scenes for future chapters because I haven't had much brainpower to write.
> 
> I personally don't look at warnings and tags much because I like to be surprised so, I'm never sure how much to say to give readers who do appreciate them a proper warning.
> 
> If you think I'm not doing a good job with my tags or beginning chapter note warnings, advice is welcome. 
> 
> ***A couple of warnings: We have some suicidal musings and an implied murder.***

The home of a Duke was not as extravagant as a Prince's, but it suited Azirath nonetheless. In another lifetime, he would have actually preferred something smaller. Quaint. Maybe a cottage. It was dangerous territory, thinking about such things. The thoughts of what could have been intruded in his mind on nights such as these, when he bothered to light a fire, when he had a guest. A guest with lovely red hair who, if the firelight caught just right, could delude him into thinking that his best friend was not dead. Not destroyed. Just over yonder, drinking wine, while they listened to Mozart.

The trick of the light usually wasn't enough. His fleeting visitors where always so nervous in his presence, always fidgeting and scared. Most were poor conversationalists, which suited him well too because Azirath wanted the illusion to last. He missed the drawling timbre of the voice he'd never hear again. The guests would sit so stiffly and tried so hard to be polite. Azirath closed his eyes and imagined his friend sprawled on a familiar sofa, holding a glass of wine precariously, grinning that mischievous grin of his. _He _ was never nervous. _He never_ worried about being polite. _He_ never sat up _straight_ on a blessed thing - ever. 

The vision in Azirath's eyes removed his glasses without a care in the world and suddenly those serpentine eyes were too much. They held a concerened smile for him and a good-natured wink.

Azirath snapped his eyes open with a gasp and an aching middle. Azirath wondered briefly if _ he _ would hate who he'd become. _ What _ he'd become. Those thoughts never boded well either.

"Sir?" The woman called Sally uttered timidly.

Azirath hadn't realized he'd been staring. "Yes, dear lady? Do you find something wanting?"

"I, uh," she stammered with a furrowed brow.

"I mean," he considered her confusion, "Are you enjoying your meal? Is something not to your liking?"

Sally's eyes went wide. "Of course! I mean, I like it very much. I don't need anything else." She seemed as if she did not know whether to continue.

"You may speak your mind," he permitted.

"I just wanted to thank you," she replied softly. 

"But?" He clasped his hands on his lap. 

She shook her head, emphatically. "It's all so perfect. The music, I've never heard anything like it... I just… I thought I'd be working. You said I'd be serving you, but you've given me such a pretty dress, and served my food. I've never had anything so delicious in my life. And the wine!" She giggled. "It's wonderful. Makes me feel…" she hesitated, then seemed to change her mind. "You haven't eaten or had anything to drink."

Azirath sighed and sent his gaze to the fire. "I don't eat if I can help it. Bad habit," he muttered.

His atonement was very precise. There were rules. His body did crave food, it was a constant yearning, though he'd denied himself sustenance for quite some time. Still, to stop from going mad, he'd nibble here and there on bland morsels. He most certainly stayed away from alcohol as much as possible, even if he'd rather drown in it and try to forget his woes. Azirath needed to be hardened. He needed control over himself in a world like this, especially with a goal like his. Revenge. He could not afford for his body to be soft or weak from needing food or drink. He needed his mind sharp, not addled from inebriation. He especially could not form attachments. Not to angels. Not to demons. And especially not to humans who reminded him so much of…

Sally watched the Duke peering into the fire. She tried not to blink to see if he ever did! Her eyes dried out and she couldn't hold her gaze like that for much longer. Though his expression was blank, she could tell he was burdened. Sally still had no idea what he wanted from her. If she wasn't here to work as some kind of maid or cook, then there was only one other thing it could be. Right? She licked her lips and studied him more closely. _ My, he is beautiful,_ she thought. It would be easy to pretend he wasn't a demon, especially in this lighting. The harsh red of his eyes was softened by the glow of the fire and some candles. If he wanted a mistress, she'd probably be willing. Had he not been kind, soft-spoken, and respectful thus far? Maybe he was waiting for her to understand her role here. 

There was no one else around. The guards were outside. There were no servants, at least not that she could see. Sally gnawed on her lower lip, wondering if she should make a move. He was so silent, so still. Maybe she should ask before jumping to conclusions. He seemed the type to appreciate candidness, but she also did not want to ruin her chances at making this lavish place her home.

Sally took a risk not many would consider. She stood and walked to her master. When he didn't look up at her, she knelt before him. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her hands began to tremble. She looked up to find his eyes trained on her now and she gasped with surprise. His look held such deep sadness for the briefest of moments before they went blank again.

She licked her parched lips. "How can I serve you, my lord?" She tried to sound as proper as she could. She lifted her hand and placed it gently on his knee. 

Azirath closed his eyes then. He loathed it when they did this because his body craved it. Desired their touch. Wanted their warmth. Just like his body wanted food and drink. All those years reaping the carnal pleasures of the body was his Hell now. He had slipped up in the past, and he knew there was always a chance he'd repeat his mistakes, but he couldn't stop now. Stealing away these creatures that paled in comparison to the real being he craved was an addiction he had no power over anymore. At least sharing a bed with them didn't feel like too much of a betrayal since he'd never known _ him _ in that way. A small mercy. There was only so much self-flagellation he could take. 

He raised a pale hand and raked his fingers through her hair. "It's never the right colour," he murmured sadly. "Either his hair was just singular or… my memory of it is fading." 

That thought always pained him the most. What he feared above all else was forgetting any detail that belonged to _ him _ . He had so little of _ him _ left, he didn’t even have a portrait. Azirath had tried to go back to the Mayfair flat, but it had been completely levelled during the war, like most things. The only trinkets he was able to salvage were a few broken pieces of a statue, the shattered wings of what appeared to be angels. Azirath had collected so many things throughout the years to keep remembering. Anything with a snake on it, clothes, sunglasses, music, wine, Shakespear...

Understanding dawned on Sally slowly, but she did finally get it. She thought she did anyway. So, he was looking to replace someone he'd lost. "I'm sorry," she whispered. 

Curiosity blazed in her mind. He? Was he talking about a demon? A human? Could she pretend to be what he wanted? Could she live a life never matching up to whoever it was he had loved? Loved? So, demons could love. Maybe demons could be kind. Yes, she decided. She could try.

"Do you want me to," she steeled her nerves, "warm your bed?" She hoped it sounded right. She hoped it seemed like she was willing even though she was nervous, frightened even.

Azirath closed his eyes hard and tried his best to douse the fire of need burning in his belly. "I'm sorry, my sweet, but I am needed elsewhere tonight.”

Sally panicked. "You're leaving?" 

Azirath stood abruptly, Sally's hand dragging off his knee. "Yes. I am due in our Lord's castle, and I'm afraid I've spent too much time away already." He walked over to a window and opened it, leaving the curtains closed. 

"When will you be back?" She stood up and twisted her lovely dress in her hands.

"It hardly matters. You'll already be gone by the time I return. In fact," he stood erect and held out an arm, "this is your one and only, final evening here." 

"What? I-I'm sorry. Please! I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have assumed—" her words failed her when a snake emerged out his sleeve and dropped to the ground. Fear gripped her instantly, and she started to cry. She should have known. He was a demon, after all. "I don't wanna die," she sobbed and backed away slowly.

Azirath watched Scarlet slither languidly in her direction. "Ah, well, death for your kind is inevitable, I'm afraid." He frowned and shook his head. "From the moment you took your first breath in this world, you were dying. Your soul will live on, but under the current political circumstances, you'll all end up in Hell. So, that's unfortunate." He took a few steps towards her. Scarlet began to rise, neck stretching.

Sally was crying in earnest now. "Please…"

"I'm so sorry," he said dryly, "but I have a reputation to maintain." Scarlet started to hiss. "Now, this is the part where you scream."

Feminine cries echoed out into the night mixed with the impeccable operatic voice of Diana Damrau's rendition of Queen of the Night. 

_ Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen, _

_ Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her! _

_ Fühlt nicht durch dich Sarastro _

_ Todesschmerzen... _

The guards at the gate eyed each other knowingly and smiled.  


* * *

The castle was swarming with demons on the second day of the festivities, all accounted for save for one loose canon that Beelzebub wanted to murder at that moment. 

"Where in _ Heaven _ is Azirath," they growled.

Hastur slid to their side with a smug grin. "I heard he was up to his creepy little habit last night." He raised his bandaged hand to scratch at his ear. "That freak can't be trusted, my lord." He groused. "He went native ages ago. Hasn't been a demon long enough."

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. They knew what was coming.

"I, on the other hand, have been by your side since the beginning!" He announced proudly. "If you'd only put in a good word—"

"Hastur, you're not getting the job," they said, annoyed.

The Duke of Hell pouted and stomped his foot. "But why?" He whined.

"Because you're not worthy," came the bored voice of Azirath from behind them.

The demons spun around to face him. Hastur almost took a step toward him until he saw his snake perk up around his shoulders. He decided to keep his distance.

Beelzebub glared at Azirath and bared their teeth. "Where have you been?"

"Come now. Isn't it tedious asking questions you already know the answers to? It is for me." He gifted them a smirk and half wink.

Hastur spluttered and edged toward Beelzebub's ear. "Why do you let him talk to you that way, my lord?!" 

"Because," Azirath eyed the prince knowingly, "by this time tomorrow, I'll have a vote on the dark council." He jutted his chin in the air with a smile directed at Hastur. "Something you should take heed of as well, dear fellow." 

Hastur looked from Azirath to his boss seeking the validity of his ludicrous statement. When the two would only stare at each other, he knew. "I'll never answer to you," he spat at the only demon free of filth and blemish in the room. "You've fooled everyone into thinking you're this loyal, hot shit, but not me. I knew you from _before,_" he groused, "when you were nothing but Crowley's little tart--!"

Azirath had sent a clawed hand to Hastur's throat at the mention of _ his _ name, his sharp nails growing into his flesh, the bright red of his irises bleeding into the whites of his eyes and obscuring his pupils.

"The next time you dare utter that name in my presence, it will be the last," he hissed, flashing sharp, impeccable teeth. "Are we clear, you insignificant _ stain _ on existence?"

Hastur could only glare.

Beelzebub pinched the bridge of their nose and summoned patience. They elbowed Hastur in the ribs to prompt his answer.

"_Fi-ah-ine _," he croaked.

Azirath released him with a final shove.

"Patch yourself up and stay out of our way," Beelzebub dismissed him with a wave.

The Duke of Hell grumbled as he pushed his way through the ogling crowd. 

Azirath calmed enough to revert back to his normal form and surveyed his hand with disgust, holding it in mid-air as he pulled out a handkerchief and scrubbed at it fiercely. "Repulsive, rancid, excrement," he muttered, sounding completely unafflicted and burned the kerchief with a spark of his digits.

Beelzebub took him by the elbow and walked toward the barrels of ale. "You can't go on a murder spree anytime someone reminds you of--"

"I can do as I please," he retorted and pulled his arm out of their grasp.

"You idiot," they ground out under their breath, "everyone knows it's your weakness. You can't be _ weak _. They will use it against you. The closer you get to Satan, the more eyes will be on you. You need to be in control."

Azirath scoffed. "They already destroyed my only _ weakness, _ as you say. What else can they do?"

Beelzebub rounded on Azirath and looked up into his stoned face. They let a flash of fear take over their expression. "A lot, Azirath. There's much you don't know," they whispered, "things you wouldn't _ believe _ unless you saw it with your own eyes."

The Duke cocked a brow, somewhat intrigued. 

"If everything goes according to plan, you will be tested before Satan himself. Prepare," they grabbed onto the lapels of his coat and tugged out imaginary creases, "for the absolute worst." They let go of his person and gave him a casual once-over. "Did you bring _ it _?" 

Azirath flashed a wicked grin, widened his eyes, and waggled his fingers before the prince's face. "You mean the thing behind your _ ear _?" He announced discreetly but enthusiastically. 

He flicked his wrist at Beelzebub's ear and produced the golden flask. The prince's eyes bugged out, and they choked on their own saliva. They whipped their head in all directions and hissed. "Are you mad?!"

By the time they looked back at Azirath, he had already uncapped the flask and took a swig.

Beelzebub's mouth dropped open, and before their brain kicked in to try and stop him, he swallowed and let out a dramatic sigh.

"Good scotch is so hard to come by these days. Would you like some?" 

Beelzebub blanched right before their blood began to boil in rage. "What... the... fu--"

"Scarlet had a lovely meal last night, didn't you, sweet girl?" He crooned and pet a barely noticeable lump on the serpent. He gave the prince a pointed look and half-winked.

They wanted to send a boot to the cheeky bastard's chin. Instead, they grabbed a goblet and poured themselves an ale with angry hands. "Fool," they muttered and chugged their drink to the last drop.

The sound of drums sounded off, and a herald emerged from behind a curtained doorway. 

"All Hail Satan!" The demon yelled.

"All Hail Satan!" The crowd shouted back.

"Kneel before your Lord, demons of New Earth and praise His name!"

The drums rolled again, the curtains parted, and Satan himself appeared with Adam by his side.

Everyone dropped to their knees at once. "ALL HAIL ADAM, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS! ALL HAIL SATAN, OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR!"

Satan was in the usual half-man form that he'd adopted after the Great War had been won; red-tanned skin, large black horns protruding from his temples, still darker hair that flowed past his shoulders, black membranous wings folded around him like a leather cape. He kept most of the features of his handsome, angelic face save for the eyes, of course. What should have been the whites of his eyes were now black, his irises were bright red with black slitted pupils. He was dressed impeccably, no surprise there. He sported a regal looking suit, a mix of modern and old, black with gold trimming down the front and on his cuffs, and matching trousers. 

The percussion ceased, and the Rulers of New Earth came forward. Adam was as morose as ever and sauntered by his father's side when he was prompted ahead.

Satan raised a hand to his subject. "You may rise, my loyal soldiers!" He waited until everyone settled. No one uttered a word. "Welcome to my home. Tonight we celebrate and toast to the contenders of tomorrow's Recognition Ceremony. All of you have pleased me greatly, but unfortunately, there is only one seat on the Dark Council available. The other members and I will cast our votes tomorrow and announce your new Prince of New Earth!"

Sensing it was a time to cheer, the crowd went wild. Satan held up his hand to silence the room - one could hear a pin drop.

"Until then, feast, drink, take pleasure in whatever sin you so desire! You've all earned it!"

Again the place was in an uproar, and all were free to do as they pleased.

Father and son took their seats on their throne. Azirath couldn't help but stare. His desire to douse the fiend in Holy Water was triggering his rage. Satan was the one to blame for everything. He wanted to despise Adam as well, but he would not have been born had Satan not spurred him into existence. No, Azirath need not hate everyone. Just one would do. The selfish, narcissistic butcher who wanted nothing more than to play God. The reason he no longer had his best friend. 

Beelzebub jabbed an elbow into his arm to snap him out of his death stare at their target. "Come on, let's pretend to enjoy this shitfest." 

Azirath did his best to mingle with the other Dukes and Princes, but his contempt for all of them didn't keep him there long. He knew he couldn't take his leave to his quarters, being up for the promotion meant he needed to be present. It would seem suspicious if he were to excuse himself so soon. Eventually, he meandered his way out to the courtyard and pulled out the golden flask. He permitted himself to empty the thing before the night was up. It was a special occasion, after all. He was sure he would be joining his best friend tomorrow. Dead. Destroyed. Unburdening himself from the disaster of his choices, his regrets. 

The more he drank, the less he could resist the pull of sinking into those pains. The memories that tortured him the most. The start of the end of it all. The horrid words he'd told _ him _. The pained expression from hearing those words. His friend had been right, he was so stupid. So stupid to have faith that all would turn out right in the end. That if they could just hold out and try their best, maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to see a day where they didn't have to look over their shoulders. That there would be a day when he would finally have the freedom and the courage to confess how he felt. 

The vision of the demon he loved so much filled his mind as he stared out into the red sky.

All chaos had broke loose so quickly, but the demon had fought his way to standing, fighting Satan's influence over him, and had taken his hand. 

_ "We have to leave now !" _

He had been too stunned to move. He was so confused. So stupid. Waiting for something, for God. Before he knew it, his best friend wrapped his arms around his waist, spread his beautiful black wings, and sent them skyward. It had been their first-ever embrace that he could not relish in from the shock and briefness. Had he acted quicker, had he done _ something _ , maybe _ he _ wouldn't have been shot out of the sky. If he’d only held onto _ him _, maybe they wouldn't have been separated. Maybe... maybe...

Azirath was down to his last sip. Instead of drinking it, he tilted the flask and poured its remaining contents on the ground. "For you."

"You mean for Crowley?" Came Adam's voice from behind.

It took all of Azirath's will not to spin around grab the Antichrist by the throat. He inhaled deeply and put away his flask. 

"How may I be of service, my lord," he asked tiredly but politely and turned to face a sorrowful Adam.

"Do you hate me?" He asked with unshed tears.

Azirath took a moment to asses the boy further. "No," he replied flatly. He needed all of his hate directed to one target and one only.

"But it's my fault."

The corner of the demon's mouth twitched as he considered his words. "No, my dear child," he took a step forward, "my loss was my own doing." That was truer than he could bear. Who he really hated was himself.

"I tried to make it right," Adam explained desperately. "I tried to change it back. All of it. But..." he cast his eyes to the ground, "it was too late I guess. I lost most of my power the moment I made my choice. I chose wrong."

Azirath nodded sagely and placed a firm hand on Adam's shoulder. "If there is anything I've learned in my long life as both an angel and a demon," he squeezed his shoulder and narrowed his eyes, "it is that there is no such thing as right or wrong. There are just choices and consequences, and what we do with them after the fact." His previous beliefs on right and wrong, on good and evil, had been naive and… stupid. How he wished with all of his being that he could go back and place his complete trust where it should have belonged from the start. His only friend.

Adam furrowed his brow and took a steadying breath. "Well," he sniffed, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Azirath gave the boy a curt nod and released him. He was not in the forgiving mood much anymore but just chose his words carefully. "Very well. Now," he changed his tone to something that would be considered merry, "you'll be missed if we do not return to the festivities."

"You know," Adam ignored him, "at first I hoped you wouldn't get the seat on the Dark Council. I didn't want you to turn into one of _ them_, but maybe," he nodded and bit his lip, "with you there, we can make something out of the consequences." With every word, he grew hopeful. "You can help me make some changes!" He smiled briefly, a first in many centuries.

"My lord," he bowed deeply with a hand to his chest, "you can trust me to do my very best to serve you and our Lord Savior."

_Stupid boy, _Azirath thought bitterly as they made their way back to the celebration, _nothing will change, even when I'm through ending your degenerate beast of a father. There will always be someone who wishes dominion over others. Always someone itching to be God. Blessed non-existence is the only mercy left to us in the end. A mercy I don't deserve, but will selfishly have anyway. Tomorrow. Tomorrow..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I learned how to link the notes! YAY!
> 
> Okay, how is everyone so far? Want to throw some theories at me? I'd love to know what you think!
> 
> Beta's: Azeran ([check out their fics!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azeran/pseuds/Azeran/works)) and Tim! Thank you so much!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mordellestories) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/mordellestories/) @mordellestories
> 
> Translation of lyrics:
> 
> The vengeance of Hell boils in my heart,  
Death and despair flame about me!  
If Sarastro does not through you feel  
The pain of death...
> 
> [The Magic Flute – Queen of the Night aria](https://youtu.be/YuBeBjqKSGQ)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you beta's: [Azeran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azeran/pseuds/Azeran) and Tim!
> 
> ***Warning: Character Death***

Azirath had never been much of a sleeper before his Fall, and especially not after. Reading and collecting books were the only occupation he allowed himself to pass the idle time between his duties as a Duke and spy, and his other _ hobby _of collecting gingers. Reading was never for pleasure, however. It was to learn. History books, books on strategy, war, politics, psychology, how to influence his will over others, how to read people, and occasionally the horrific memoirs of those who had suffered some kind of tragedy. Long gone were the times that he poured over religious texts, though he kept some he’d come across for propriety's sake. After all, what greater texts existed to manipulate the masses than the dogmatic ones from various religions and cults?

Reading is what Azirath was doing when a knock on his door interrupted him. He was already preparing some underhanded insult for Beelzebub, but upon opening his door, he found the herald from the evening prior instead.

"May I help you?" He greeted with suspicion.

"Our Lord has requested your presence in the throne room. Please come with me."

"Oh," he said surprised and caught completely off guard, "that's... wonderful news. I'm-I'm honoured." He sent a panicked glance at the sleeping serpent. "If you would permit me a moment to gather my familiar--"

"That will not be necessary. Follow me." The demon turned and began a fast march down the hall.

Azirath cursed silently and followed. A miracle in Satan's presence would certainly be noticed. He'd have to destroy him at some point following the ceremony after all. 

It was a fast trek to the throne room where Satan, Adam, and Beelzebub stood at its centre in some discussion. Four Guards present at all times. 

The herald held up a fist for Azirath to halt while he announced him. A guard quickly came from seemingly nowhere and began a thorough search for any weapons on Azirath.

“My Lord, the demon Azirath, Duke of New Earth!"

The three fiends within turned and grew quiet. 

Satan smiled politely and waved him forward. "You may approach. Welcome." He turned to his other guests. "That'll be all. Until we meet again this evening. Adam, Beelzebub."

Adam waved at Azirath with a hopeful smile and sauntered out, while Beelzebub bowed deeply. 

"Thank you, my Lord." They walked backwards a few steps and turned toward Azirath. "Hail Satan," they greeted as they walked past him.

"Hail Satan," he replied and was ushered into the room. The herald disappeared, leaving Azirath in the presence of the former Light Bearer of Heaven. He scoffed internally but kept his face blank, eyes slightly downcast.

"Greetings, Sire," he bowed and waited for Satan to give him permission to stand erect. "I am at your service by your grace."

"Greetings, Azirath." Satan waved a dismissive hand and took stock of his Duke. "Thank you for joining me." He motioned to the curtained archway. "Let us walk together. I'd rather converse in a more agreeable atmosphere."

Azirath gave him a curt bow and followed, keeping Satan's languid pace. 

"I sent for you because we have yet to have a proper meeting. I like to get to know my subjects, especially those who I will bring into my most trusted circle."

"I'm honoured," he replied guardedly as they walked past the archway into halls he'd never set foot in. "I hope you will be pleased with me despite my uninteresting personal life."

Satan chuckled. "Uninteresting? Hardly. I find you very intriguing, Aziraphale."

Azirath flinched visibly at the sound of his angelic name coming from his enemies mouth. He kicked himself inwardly at falling prey to the Deceiver's attempts at shaking him. 

Satan laughed again. "Most of us demons are averse to using our given names, but I, myself, take pride in our origins. We cannot appreciate who we are, nor gauge how far we've come, without acknowledging our humble beginnings. But I will call you Azirath if you prefer."

"You may call me whatever you like, my Lord." Azirath's blood began to boil at the thought of his first name rolling off that vile tongue. He was sure he’d be killed on the spot if he tried calling him Lucifer.

"Hm," Satan hummed with approval and curiosity. "I've heard much about you. Beelzebub has groomed you well for the position, and my son is very partial to you, but I can't help but wonder about you, Azirath."

"I'm an open book."

"Very good," he said dryly. 

They finally turned and emerged into the most beautiful Garden that Azirath had encountered post-armageddon. The only garden, in fact. His eyes instinctively narrowed from the brightness, his nostrils flared at the sudden inhalation of pure, fragrant air. He shaded his eyes against the _ sun _! 

Again, Satan laughed openly and clapped him on the shoulder. "That never gets old. Welcome to my Eden, Azirath."

Azirath clamped his mouth shut after discovering it had been hanging open. He cursed himself again. Satan was proving difficult to predict, and that did not bode well. Azirath had always prided himself on his control over situations, over demons, his reactions. It was clear that Satan was trying to keep him off balance. It was working because as he tried to regain his footing, Satan spoke again.

"You are the only one left who can satisfy my curiosity. How does this compare to the Garden you defended for God, former Principality?"

This was not going well at all, Azirath thought with building panic. Satan was looking for weakness. Beelzebub had warned him. This was all leading to something... someone.

"That was a very long time ago, sire, but where the Garden of Eden awed in size, your Garden triumphs in beauty, certainly." 

That was an outright lie. The first Garden had been perfection made real. It had been made to self-sustain and nurture life, whereas Satan's garden was purely self-indulgent. This garden was orderly, needed tending, and had no other purpose but to please the eye.

"You flatter me, Azirath," Satan sing-songed with a waggle of a finger. "Honesty or no, I cannot say I don't appreciate it."

They walked in silence for only a moment before Satan turned toward an apple tree. Azirath nearly froze in place when his eyes beheld the fruit and a flash of his best friend filled his mind. The vision leaned against the trunk and plucked a perfect red apple off the tree. Azirath was brought back to the moment. He tried to control his breathing as he watched Satan take a large, deliberate bite of his apple, its juice dribbled down his chin. Any moment now, the Lord of Hell was about to broach a sensitive subject, and Azirath had to be ready.

"Mm. Would you like one?" He offered up the bitten apple. 

Azirath gave him a closed-mouth smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It would be a waste on me, I'm afraid. I take no pleasure in eating... anymore."

Satan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Curious. So, so curious." He swallowed down another bite and tossed the unfinished apple over his shoulder. "We never met before the Rebellion. I mean, I knew of you, of course, the way we all knew of our flock. The way we all know our names without asking. The way we all know of our vocation without any prior information. But we never actually _ met _ in Heaven."

Azirath nodded. "I'd seen you in passing once." A small fib. He'd seen Lucifer on several occasions from afar, but he recalled the first time he'd laid eyes on him easily.

Satan turned to him, surprised. "Oh?"

"I was on my way to help build a new galaxy, you and Michael flew overhead, and everyone stopped to admire you." Azirath could remember it clearly. One of the most beautiful Archangels that so many looked up to, flying with perfect grace.

"Shame we did not meet then. Had I more of your calibre on my side at the time, I might not have failed." He sighed. "I did, however, know Jophiel quite well."

There it was. 

Azirath swallowed down the bile in his throat and tried to close off all human sensitivities. He tried to speak or make an affirming sound, but nothing came.

Satan continued pouring salt on the wound. "So beautiful and passionate, with his flaming sword. Did you know him then?"

A stupid question posed only to spur him into speaking of _ him _. "He was my teacher," Azirath offered simply.

"Well, he was a teacher to all of us. It was his vocation at the time. I'm sure you worked under his direction in creating the galaxies at one point or another as well, but..." he stopped walking and bore holes into the side of Azirath's head. "Were you acquainted with him? Personally."

Azirath turned to face Satan and looked him directly in the eye. "Yes." Azirath took in Satan's smug face and smirked. "I worked under his supervision, studied privately with him on some occasions, even met socially a few times. He was kind enough to humour a lowly angel such that I was."

Satan nodded, sniffed, and continued walking. He plucked a rose from an all too perfect rosebush. "Then you forgot him and the rest of us when we were cast out. How intriguing that you were issued his sword and sent down to safeguard Eden at the same time we sent him to tempt the first humans. A large promotion, going from Angel to Principality. Unusual." 

He had said all that with implied suspicion. It sounded like he was trying to discover some kind of plot against him. 

Azirath decided to tread lightly but also knew that the only way to rise above Satan's mind games was to face the issue head-on. 

"I knew not of God's plans," Azirath admitted, "but it does seem suspicious that She chose me to carry his sword and specifically appointed me as Principality. Maybe She hoped that upon recognizing me, Crowley would repent."

He had said his name for the first time in centuries without so much as a twitch. It had rolled off his tongue as naturally as it ever had. Azirath didn't know whether to be pleased or disappointed with himself for how unceremonious it had sounded, but he was proud to have caught Satan off guard for once.

Satan looked genuinely surprised, his brow was raised, and his mouth had parted slightly. "An interesting theory." He nodded and stepped closer to the Duke. "And _ Crowley _ never mentioned that you two were previously acquainted?"

"Never. I wish he had," he said truthfully. He cast his suddenly sombre eyes to the ground.

"It must have been _ painful _ to lose your _ companion _," Satan prompted sorrowfully. 

Azirath snapped his head up, again, surprise taking hold of him without his wanting to. "My _ companion _ ." He mimicked, then scoffed. "Everyone seems to think that we were romantically involved," he sneered, "like a _ human _ couple. That's simply not true."

Once more, Satan seemed astonished. "All that time on Earth, in human vessels, with only each other as your only constant... and _ never _...?"

"We were not _ lovers _," Azirath reiterated more sternly than he wanted to. 

"No," Satan nodded as he sensed the truth, "you were more than that, however." He narrowed his eyes and grew closer still. "You were friends. _ Best _ friends. True _ companions. _"

Azirath's eyes fluttered in response to the pain in his heart. He pursed his lips and could not speak. A familiar ache began to spread through his chest and poured into his belly.

Satan smiled wickedly. "I spent time on Earth, here and there. I know what it's like to be among the humans. To act like them. To _ live _ as them. Eating their food, drinking their wine, the _ desire _ to try the things they find pleasure in." He leaned forward and brought a finger to his lips. "I've never told anyone, but..." his grin grew wider, "certain habits are hard to shake after you've had a taste of human pleasures. Though we do not need air to breathe, food or sleep to sustain us," he brought his mouth to Azirath's ear, "it becomes an itch that demands to be scratched every so often. Don't you agree?"

Azirath was stock still. He could feel his body heat up at the implications. 

Satan righted himself and looked expectantly at him. "And I was only there for a scant few centuries combined. You and your companion were practically human for six millennia. So," he smiled toothily and smugly, "there's a reason your blood runs hot whenever your eyes rest upon heads the colour of _ fire _."

Azirath's heart began to hammer. He miracled it away but knew it hardly mattered. No matter how many times he made organs disappear, there was a phantom one left behind that pestered in the same way. Satan was all too correct. Playing human for so long had its consequences.

"Crowley is the itch you cannot scratch. You may not have tasted of each other's human flesh, but you, at the very least, wanted to. That's why you went behind Heaven's back and fulfilled temptations in Crowley's stead. That's why you followed where he beckoned. Will you admit to this?"

The world grew small around him and he could hear the rush of blood in his head, like an ocean in his ears. Was this the test that Beelzebub meant? The Duke honed in on his goal. To destroy Satan. To destroy him, he needed to be close to him. As close as possible. Gain his trust. To gain his trust, would mean to be honest. But he had never admitted such a thing to anyone. Ever. Never even admitted it to himself aloud. It felt like his entire being was trembling even though he was still as a statue.

He looked into Satan's demonic eyes. "Yes," he breathed it out like he'd been holding his breath for centuries. And damn it all, he felt a weight lift off his soul.

Satan barked out a laugh and wrapped a strong arm around Azirath's shoulders, giving him a vigorous shake. "Doesn't it feel good to unburden yourself? Oh, Azirath, I am very pleased with you. Very pleased, indeed. I had my doubts. After all, you did try to thwart my plans to end the world, but I see now that you were trying to thwart Heaven as well. Love. A powerful thing, is it not? It moves us to madness. An evil creation made by an evil God."

Azirath felt his stomach sour, he wanted desperately to flee.

Satan released his hold and was delighted to see the Duke a little more pale than before. "You will do well at my side."

Azirath swallowed down his fragmented senses and composed himself as much as he could. "May the votes be in my favour then."

Satan scoffed and clasped his hands behind him. "We both know the votes will be unanimous. See you at the ceremony, Azirath. I do hope you pass the test this evening." 

With that, Satan walked away, and a guard materialized to lead Azirath the way they had come.

Somehow, he'd gotten to his room with no recollection of how or even when. The Duke dragged a trembling hand down his face. That had not been the test, as he thought. There was nothing he could think of that would come close to being as awful as what he'd just endured. Nothing. His trepidation turned to fury.

_ I'm going to laugh as your shocked, and confused eyes melt in your pretty skull, you despicable rat. Whatever the cost. _

* * *

The throne room was packed to the brim. Beelzebub and the other Princes, Mammon and Belphegor, sat on the threshold below the throne where Adam and Satan were already seated. To right and left of them stood the Horsemen, two on either side. They were the members of the Dark Council, one council member short because Asmodeus had been stupid enough to get himself destroyed by a nameless angel, with Beelzebub's help.

Azirath had just been called upon. He was knelt before them and reciting the words, the oaths, pledging himself to be Satan's instrument. Beelzebub looked as stoic as ever, but they were full of fear within. Aziraphale had been a mess when they first found him in the cells of Hell. Soft, vulnerable, and mad with worry, asking anyone who would listen if they knew what had befallen the demon, Crowley. 

They were there when Hastur grabbed the grief-stricken angel and told him that Crowley had been destroyed. He had crumpled to the ground and cried into his hands, his gut-wrenching sobs sounded familiar to the prince. They were the sounds of true loss, of a large piece of one's self dying. The angel had been ready to accept his destruction. It was because of this that they had approached him later with a proposition. 

_ "Fall. Help me destroy Lucifer and get your vengeance."_

The loss of God's love hardened him further. His thirst for blood, his only driving force, but Beelzebub had not expected him to rise as quickly as he did. Had not expected him to be so cruel and ruthless. Azirath had caught the most rogue angels of any of the demons combined. It was his singular purpose to rise in rank, to get to where he was now. 

Beelzebub closed their eyes briefly. They were shocked to feel a sense of guilt, but they pushed it away. Satan had failed on his promise of a better world for his demons, his promise to take them back to Heaven, their rightful home. Instead, the world was almost as miserable as Hell itself and Heaven... Heaven was still engulfed in Hellfire. Azirath was just a small piece in the grand scheme of things. Beelzebub could not afford regret now.

Before they knew it, the room cheered for Prince Azirath and Satan rose from his seat.

"Let's not be too hasty!" Satan addressed the crowd. "Prince Azirath must still pass the test!"

The demons roared and hollered. "TEST! TEST! TEST!"

"Silence!" Cried their Lord. "Guards! Bring forth our prisoner!"

The room parted in the middle as two guards came forward, dragging someone between them. When they reached Azirath, they threw the prisoner at his feet.

Azirath revealed nothing of his emotions when he beheld the familiar face. 

Satan's booming voice echoed in the chamber. "Behold your test, Prince Azirath." 

War approached the new prince and handed him the flaming sword. 

"Execute the prisoner," Satan instructed, "and earn your place by my side."

A flash of memories poured into Azirath's mind as he held the sword he’d once owned and had given away, the sword that had originally belonged to his best friend. The tears threatened to spill but he forced them away. He bent low to come face to face with his victim. 

"Hello, Michael," he murmured for only them to hear.

Michael glared at the demon, not knowing him for a moment, then knowledge came to them with a flash. 

"Aziraphale?" They gawked at the drastic change the former Principality had undergone. They had heard the stories, had seen the loss of their angels as a result, but seeing him like this was a shock. "You traitor," they hissed, "we should have destroyed you when we found out you were consorting with that demon!"

Azirath placed his fingers under Michael's chin and tilted their face upward, closer to his own. He bent lower and muttered into their ear. "Did you destroy _ him _ ? Did you kill my _ best friend _?"

Michael jerked away from him. "That's what this is about? You turned on your kind because we killed a demon in a _ war _?!" They spat at his shoes. 

Azirath seethed in place, stood erect, and pointed the sword at their throat. "Is that a confession?"

The heat of the tainted sword was unbearably close, but they fought off the fear. "No," they announced resolutely. "But if I'd had the chance, I would have done it proudly and--"

The last of Michael's words died with them. Their head dropped to the ground with a thud, their body disintegrating from the flames.

There was a stunned moment of silence before the cheers rang loud, and the ground trembled from the clamouring demons revelling in their utter blood lust.

War held out their hand and waited.

Reluctantly, Azirath handed back the sword, giving it away for the final time, then climbed the steps and took his place as Prince of New Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
Hi guys! Ya'll okay? Do you think Azirath is still redeemable? Beelzebub seems to think so. What do you think? In the next chapter, Azirath finally gets his chance to destroy Satan... do you think he'll succeed? Chicken out? Get thwarted? 
> 
> I'm SO excited to release the next chapter! GAH! lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! I told myself that if I reached 1k words for chapter 12, I'd release this chapter early. 
> 
> Thank you my beloved betas Azeran and Tim!
> 
> BRACE YOURSELVES!
> 
> ***Warning: Suicidal ideation***

The celebrations had lasted all day and promised to continue through the night as well, or until Satan decided to throw everyone out. Hundreds of demons lined up to meet their new Prince and congratulate him on his promotion, and especially his excellent execution of Michael from earlier. Beelzebub observed Azirath, looking for any signs that he may have felt any regret for what he had done. They wondered if they should have been surprised by finding his face completely blank, not an ounce of remorse in his eyes. True, Michael had been a pill since the early days, but Azirath had worked under them for so long that he must have felt something at being named their executioner - for destroying them. Anything. Either he was hiding it really well, as he usually did, or he really didn't care. If the latter was true, Beelzebub worried that they may have done their job too well in grooming their assassin.

The demon prince could not deny that Crowley and Aziraphale were the only ones who really foresaw the disaster that would be the end of the world. And they were the only two immortals who tried their best to stop it from happening. That took a lot of guts. Either they were stupid, which Beelzebub knew was not the case (unfortunately), or their love for each other and the world had given them the courage they needed to stand up against all of Heaven and Hell.

They couldn't help it, they admired them. 

Now that the time had finally come to use Azirath for his purpose, Beelzebub suddenly felt regret. If only Azirath did not want his own destruction so badly, they might be able to save him, while still being able to destroy Satan in the process. Not because they _ cared _ , of course, but because he was _ useful _ . Because he was _ clever _. And because there may yet still be a chance for him to find his place in the world that Beelzebub hoped to make. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless. 

After who knows how many hours of having demons kiss his ring, sing his praises, congratulate him, and show off, Azirath finally breathed a sigh of relief when Satan stood and requested his Dark Council to convene. Being the new recruit, Azirath was last in line following his colleagues through the halls behind the same curtained archway that had led to the courtyard. Beelzebub should have been first in front, just behind their Lord's, but they had waited until he approached to begin walking. They clapped a firm hand on his shoulder twice, then leaned into his ear and whispered.

"Don't do it."

Azirath was shocked. Why would Beelzebub ask him not to proceed with the plans they had been making for centuries? He swatted their hand away and walked faster. It was his answer, his blatant disobedience. Of course he was going to do it. He was going to destroy Satan, possibly die in the process himself, but rejoice all the while. Azirath sent a hand into his coat and over his shoulder, feeling for the bulge in Scarlet's belly. The small cylindrical canister of holy water lay hidden inside of her still.

Finally, they turned into another hallway that led directly to a single door that towered over them ominously. Engraved on its almost black wood was a depiction of the Great War, with Satan atop a mountain made of demons. As soon as his guards approached it, the door opened on its own. Two of the guards stayed on either side of the doorway, checking every council member and removing their weapons, including the flaming sword on War's person. Their familiars, however were left alone, as Beelzebub had mentioned prior.

The council room was exaggeratedly large, and at its centre was a long table fit for ten, with only one heavily adorned chair at the head. Azirath wanted to scoff aloud. Back when he had been a knight for Arthur, the room where the Round Table sat might have been small, but many great feats came from it. Feats that Satan could never even dream to accomplish. 

A sudden image of a black knight flashed in Azirath's mind. He winced visibly and abruptly banished the ghost from his past. He needed to be focused. He needed all of his wits about him. Like the serpent coiled tightly around his body, he needed to wait patiently for his prey to be vulnerable before he struck. 

The council members stood at their designated chairs and waited for their Lord to seat himself first. Satan sat at the head, followed by Adam to his left, then he motioned for all to follow suit. He could feel Satan’s eyes on him. Azirath sent a casual glance his direction, but Satan did not look away. He wanted Azirath to know he was being watched carefully. Unfortunately for Azirath, he was at the other end of the table, farthest away from Satan, and sitting before Death. 

Azirath looked into the voids of Death's hollow eyes and nodded curtly in greeting. Death did not reciprocate. 

"Let us all welcome the demon of the hour, Prince Azirath!" Satan called out and clapped his hands slowly with a wide smile.

The members clapped somewhat unenthusiastically until Satan finished and Azirath acknowledged them all with a half-smile and nod.

"As you can imagine," Satan continued, "we won't be getting much work done this evening as this is a celebration!" He waited for his council to murmur their assent. "However, my son wishes to bring a concern forward. Adam?"

Adam stood up and cleared his throat. "I know I've been asleep for a long time, and I know I never have much to say or anything at all, but I feel different now. And I want to contribute to making New Earth a prosperous kingdom. The Horsemen are doing their jobs very well."

Three of the Four smiled and thanked him.

"But I think you're doing your jobs _ too _ well."

The Horsemen looked around the table with furrowed brows - those that had them.

"What I mean is, humans are dying off faster and faster as time goes by." Adam looked to Azirath and smiled hopefully. "Azirath helped me understand that we can still make things better."

Everyone turned their gaze to the new Prince. _ Fuck, _ Azirath thought with a forced, polite smile on his face.

Adam continued. "Make something out of the consequences. It's in our hands! We can do whatever we want, why not create a world where humans and other life can flourish? It's what I thought I was meant to do in the first place."

Satan took in a long breath. "Thank you, Adam. That was… moving. What say the council?"

Adam sat, and Famine raised a finger. "Famine, Pollution, War, and Death is who we are. It's what we do. It's, like you said, our _ job _. Are you saying you want to fire us? Leave us without a purpose?"

Satan nodded. "A fine point."

Adam shook his head. "No, it's just, I just…" he looked pleadingly to Azirath.

Azirath pursed his lips and groaned internally. All eyes were on him once more. _ Oh, bother _. He flicked his hand slightly. "Permission to speak?"

"Granted, of course," Satan chuckled with a glint in his eyes and bore holes into the new prince.

Azirath nodded and clicked his tongue. "Although I did not counsel his lordship in how to run a kingdom." He looked pointedly at Adam, who seemed a bit guilty. "I think what our young Lord is trying to say, is that all great kingdoms are built on the backs of, well, people. The greater in number they are, the greater the kingdom. Right now, demons bear the full brunt of all the hard work, when we should be the one's ruling. We've lost many of our soldiers to the Great War, and rogue angels throughout the years. Though we can't make more demons, we could let the humans repopulate - restricted of course, and rebuild our army. Maybe, finally, flush the rebels out in the process."

War stood up abruptly, anger in their eyes. "Letting the humans grow in numbers will only make more rebels."

The table murmured, seemingly in agreement.

"Perhaps," Azirath conceded, "but there seem to be more rebels now than ever, even though the population continues to dwindle. If done correctly, humans could be the solution to our _ growing _ rebel problem."

"How?" Asked Belphegor.

Azirath shrugged. "A couple of ways come to mind from my lengthy stay on the planet. The people must believe that their needs are being met. Simple needs. Food, clean water, shelter, and little bit _ fun _."

He waited for the table to stop laughing.

"The trick is to make them believe they are free though they remain slaves. A wage just under what they need to survive, so they strive to make more money, which results in overworked humans who don't have the time or energy to fight in a rebellion. Especially when they don't have much to complain about. Throw in a national sport, like, I don't know, boxing for instance, and they'll have an empty distraction from their awful lives. Feeding into vices, such as addictions to - whatever really - will keep them under control. And," he smiled at Satan, "an official religion does wonders in creating blind followers. Perhaps a day of worship is finally in order in reverence of you, sire."

The table did not laugh this time. All was quiet until Satan slammed his hand to the table and laughed loudly. He clapped with enthusiasm and pointed to Azirath as he addressed the rest of them. "That is precisely why we need Azirath here. He knows! Truly knows the intricacies of sin because he lived among humans for so long. It's precisely why Crowley was so exceptional at his job, securing souls for us."

Azirath had to control his blood flow to keep from boiling in his seat.

"Everything we've done so far has been small-minded. Azirath can see the bigger picture. Well done, Azirath and Adam! We will convene again soon to start to put these things in motion. But now, let us continue with the festivities!"

On cue, the doors swung open, and a group of human slaves entered with carts full of delicacies and fine beverages. Another group of musicians took their place in a far corner and began to play. Half-naked men and women filed in and danced wildly in circles.

All the while, Adam stared at Azirath with hurt and disappointment on his face. He stood up and stormed out of the room. For a fraction of a moment, Azirath pitied him. 

Azirath studied the room and rolled his eyes internally. How typical this all was. He'd seen these things repeat themselves through history, time and time again. A corrupt ruler, a false council, a farce of a kingdom, and for what? Power. Power over everything and nothing all at once.

Something felt different, a small vibration in his being, or like there was a tinkling little bell in Azirath’s mind trying to warn him. It felt familiar. Maybe it was anticipation. Suppressed terror? Fear was something he was no longer used to. It was natural to fear for one’s life, even if he had already decided to end it. It was the vaguest of thoughts. Fleeting really. He had more pressing things to worry about, like destroying the evil bastard who was now blatantly staring at him again.

It wasn't long before the Deceiver waved Azirath over to his side. Satan was lounging comfortably on a chaise that had been brought in along with other furniture for the party. He motioned for Azirath to sit close by. Beelzebub made eye contact with the would-be assassin and gave him a warning look. Azirath looked away and assessed his situation. He was close to Satan, but a guard stood right behind them, and another only four steps away to his left. Death was before him once more, and Mammon was drinking profoundly right beside him.

"Excellent little speech. I'm pleased with you," Satan purred.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Religion. Ha! Well, it's been so long since Satanism, but it will do as a base for something more effective." He chuckled.

_ Of course, you liked that, you contemptible egomaniac. _"I am honoured to be of service."

"All excellent ideas. I've thought of them, of course…" he waved dismissively. "Just haven't had the motivation. I've been too lax since we won the War. Your presence, however, has rekindled a fire!" He set his wicked gaze on Azirath and winked.

Satan waved over a scantily dressed woman. He admired her as she danced for him.

"My Lord," Death prompted, "if you'll excuse me, I have duties I'd like to attend to."

Satan nodded. "Always working! Well, happy reaping."

Death stood, bowed, and then turned to Azirath. They stared at one another for a long, awkward moment until Azirath raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Good seeing you again, old chap."

Death said nothing, then vanished.

"Hm. I don't think he likes me much," Azirath frowned.

"He's a bore!" Sneered Mammon, which made Satan chuckle.

"I'm sure his line of work takes a toll on him, poor dear," Azirath commented with faux sympathy.

The demons laughed.

This was the perfect setting for Azirath's plans. He knew how these things went. Everyone was giving into carnal pleasures. Death was gone. Soon Mammon would be so drunk, he wouldn't notice what was going on even if it were inches from his face. Satan was already relaxed, and Azirath had caught the guards staring at the dancer before them. 

So, Azirath waited...

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, Azirath." Satan prompted after some time had passed

The assassin had forgotten to blend in. "I suppose I feel like I should be on my best behaviour, first day on the job and all that."

"Nonsense! I demand that you partake in the pleasures this world has to offer. That _ I _ have to offer." Satan beckoned to a servant with a tray of wine.

"I wouldn't dream of refusing." Azirath took a goblet and dismissed the slave. He often sipped, sometimes not ingesting at all to keep as sober as possible.

"Addiction," Satan mused.

"Hm?" Mammon was already on his third bottle of wine. 

Satan kept his eyes on the dancer. "Azirath mentioned addiction as a way to control the humans."

"Mm. Righ'-righ’," Mammon agreed, seemingly not aware of what they were talking about.

Satan gave Azirath a knowing look and thumbed to the drunk. "Humans aren't the only ones who form unhealthy habits," he chuckled. "But you know that already, don't you?"

Azirath sighed. _ Here we go again, _ he thought. Satan was about to begin his little mind games. "Indubitably," he admitted.

"What were some of your favourites back when the world was yours?"

"Mine? I never presumed the world was mine." The world had never been his, though sometimes when he was in good company, he felt like they were the only ones in the world. The world sometimes felt like their oyster. They knew better, of course. Always having to be discreet, lie, and look over their shoulders. Their own existence wasn’t even theirs.

"Figuratively, of course," Satan scoffed. "Come now, do tell."

Azirath was keenly aware he was fishing for more weaknesses.There was that little bell in his mind again. He ignored it. "Food," he replied honestly.

"Oh?" He gave Azirath a quick glance.

"I was a bit of a glutton, I'm afraid." He looked around again and found Mammon was dozing off. The guards had smirks on their faces as they watched War arm-wrestling the much larger Belphegor. It almost seemed like they were silently placing bets.

"Such a sinful angel!" Satan laughed. "Gluttony, a bit of a sloth when it came to your Heavenly duties, I imagine."

Azirath chuckled and nodded. "After a time, the world had more to offer than the job." Discreetly he placed his free hand on his lap within his coat and stroked his familiar. She slithered slowly from his shoulders, around his neck, and tucked her front half inside. Her head made contact with his hand, and he pretended to idly pet her.

"And let's not forget _ lust _ as well," Satan added as he dragged the dancer closer to them both. 

Azirath kept his cool but the persistent tinkling was borderline distracting. "How could I forget," he muttered. Scarlet began to move the canister from her belly toward her mouth. 

"Nothing to be ashamed of." He eyed Azirath and pointed at the dancer. "Want one?"

"Again, would be a waste on me," Azirath smiled kindly.

"Prefer men? I like to switch things up, myself, but a woman's body," he breathed, "much more sensual, in my opinion." He gazed at Azirath again. "Shall I summon a male?"

"No, sire," Azirath lamented. "Simply doesn't interest me much anymore."

"Oh, of course!" Satan straightened and sent the dancer away. "Your attraction was to Crowley only! The gingers are the closest thing you can get. Forgive my absentmindedness," he bemoaned.

_ Absentmindedness, my pale arse. _ "No need, my Lord." The canister was halfway out of Scarlet's mouth and into Azirath's hand. The tinkling sensation had turned into an obnoxious ring. _ Nerves, _ he told himself, _ just nerves. _

"No, no!" Satan shook his hands and smiled wickedly. "I forgot I had a gift for you!"

The cannister finally dropped completely, and Azirath grasped it tightly. "A gift?"

Satan snapped his fingers, and one of the guards approached quickly. "Bring in those red-heads our men rounded up earlier today."

Azirath could feel himself pale. 

The guard was off in a flash.

"Oh, that's not necessary," Azirath breathed out a bit too quickly. 

Satan ignored him. "It wasn't an easy feat seeing as there is a shortage of humans in general," he chuckled. "But I like to reward my loyal followers. 'Feed into their vices,' as you mentioned," he grinned, "to keep them… _ happy _ . That way," he shrugged as the door opened again, revealing at least fifteen red-headed humans, "they _ stay _ loyal."

The air shifted around him suddenly and the ringing stopped. Instead, a low hum of energy burrowed itself in his being. He pushed it away, chalking it up to a change in pressure in the room. Regardless, Azirath could feel his heart begin to thump rapidly in his chest. He kept his gaze slightly downcast to concentrate on unscrewing the cap of the flask, but the guard lined the slaves up quickly. 

"No, no," Satan said curtly, "turn them around. It's the hair he likes most. Let him get a good view." He turned to Azirath and held up a finger. "You can only choose one, I'm afraid. Don't want to start more riots, plus, I hear you go through them so quickly! Don't want to run out, now do you?" 

Satan stood up and moved to the humans.

_ Shit, _ Azirath cursed internally. Satan was no longer in range, and his hand was trembling. _ Why am I trembling? _ The hum began to feel more like a crackling. It was familiar but forgotten and downright terrifying.

"Come, come," Satan beckoned, "didn't have time to wash them for you, I guess. Sorry about that. But go on! Pick any one you like!" Satan seemed much too pleased with himself.

Azirath had no choice but to slip the Holy Water into his coat pocket. He stood up on unsteady legs and dragged himself to the brute and his makeshift ginger harem. He still couldn't look up at the slaves and decided to keep his eyes on Satan's evil smile. Alarm bells were ringing in his ears.

"Maybe you should pick for me," he half-whispered weakly. He was trying so hard not to send his head into those pearly white teeth.

"I'd never presume to know your taste!" His merriment faded a bit, and his eyes became stern. "I don't give gifts idly," he said slowly, like a warning.

Azirath swallowed down his rancour and trepidation, then decisively turned to the humans. A quick scan down the line showed a vast array of shades of red. One was clearly a strawberry blonde, some were not even natural red-heads, but brunets that were merely discoloured from mal-nutrition. 

The afflicted demon was about to just point at random to get this Hell over with when he spotted a singular shade of auburn he’d been searching for since the world ended. It triggered his whole being to a standstill. The hair was waist length, filthy and matted, but there was no doubt in Azirath's mind that the colour beneath the grime would be perfect. So perfect, he might die. 

The crackling energy was now a maelstrom. The familiarity was unmistakable now.

"Ah, I think you found one you like," Satan crooned.

Azirath's throat was so parched he couldn't swallow. The breath he took in through his nose was loud and broken. Blood rushed to his head, settling in his ears and behind his eyeballs. Fixated and unblinking, Azirath found himself almost floating toward the flame-like locks. His mind was screaming impossible things in an impossibly loud volume. He raised a quivering hand and just barely let his fingers ghost over the flyaways until his hand landed on a bony shoulder. The mere contact sent a shockwave through his being. 

With unintended harsh force, he spun the slave around and recoiled with a loud sob when amber, serpentine eyes stared back at him.

There stood the impossible. 

There stood his companion. 

There stood Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SHIZNIT! I'm sure you all saw that coming. But it was still fun right? ::self-conscious chuckle:: Well, I hope it was! Don't ya hate cliffhangers? ::evil smile::
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! You all get me so excited to keep writing! I'm pretty sure I'll be done writing the first draft of chapter 12 tomorrow if I can get a few hours of no interruptions, which I should because I just picture locked a short film I directed! YAY! Just waiting for producer approval and I hope to share it soon!
> 
> Yell at me here or on tumblr and IG!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are gonna kill me...
> 
> Thank you so much my betas Azeran and Tim!
> 
> ***Warning: Detailed panic attack symptoms. Graphic Violence. Minor-character death.***

Something was very wrong with his human vessel. It had somehow short-circuited, wasn't working properly anymore. Or maybe Azirath just wasn't on the world any longer. Maybe this was a dream, or more accurately a nightmare. His eyes were seeing but not believing. He was wracked with overwhelming dread. His body was burning up to a degree that would surely boil him from the inside out. His chest, his chest felt like it was collapsing and his legs could not find footing because the ground, for some reason, was tilting and turning. He was falling, everything was going black. He was going to be sick. And he was. His stomach revolted and a burning lump ran up his oesophagus and spewed out of his mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind came the hysterical thought of the time Mary Magdalene had stumbled into the tomb looking for the corpse of her beloved, but found him and Crowley instead. 

_ “Oh, yeah, that bloke? Yeah, flew the coop hours ago.” _

_ “Crowley, for goodness sake. What he means to say is, rejoice! He’s not here for he has risen and - oh my… she’s fainted.” _

_ “That’s gonna hurt later.” _

He thought he heard himself giggle before darkness overcame him.

Azirath heard a growing murmur first. What was it? Flies? Bees? Shouting. Laughing… Hands were on him. Someone was touching him and clawing at his clothes. He opened his eyes and found himself on the ground surrounded by demons, searching him, stripping him of his coat and waistcoat, checking his pockets. Pockets. There was something important about…

Azirath shot up to sitting with a gasp, wide-eyed, and wild. He was dead. Caught Holy-water-handed. He was going to die and Crowley along with him--

_ CROWLEY! _

He whipped his head in all directions, trying to see past the crowd still hovering over him. The red-headed slaves were being escorted out of the room.

“Wait,” he barely rasped, “WAIT!” He began to choke on his own sick that was leftover, still lodged in his throat as he was hoisted up to standing. They let him go but his legs wobbled beneath him and a pair of hands caught him under the arms just before he crashed to the ground.

“My, my, Azirath,” Satan said amusedly, towering over the new prince. “I think you were the best entertainment of the evening!” The demons laughed and chuckled at Azirath’s expense. A guard approached him and muttered in Satan’s ear. “Hmph.” He looked at Azirath with narrowed eyes. “I was quite certain you were going to try and assassinate me tonight. I mean, why climb all the way to the tippy-top when the love of your life is presumed dead unless to exact revenge, but you surprised me again.” 

Azirath was still gasping for air when Satan leaned over his face.

“Unless you planned to try it some other time? But even if you did you won’t now, will you?” His smile was almost kind. “Because I’ve graced you with what you covet most.” He cupped Azirath’s face in his red-tanned claws. “I’ve raised the dead for you and gave him to you as a gift.” His smile faded and his eyes glinted with malice. “And what I giveth, I can taketh away.” 

Whoever was holding him up gave him a jerk.

Azirath opened his mouth without knowing what was going to come out and heard. “Praise Satan.” It had been uttered weakly, breathily, and sounded absolutely genuine.

The Demon Lord patted the prince’s cheek with a smile. “Indeed.” He stood erect once more and waved off the crowd. “Show yourselves out whenever you wish.” The demons dispersed and returned to their previous activities. 

Satan turned to Azirath again. “Don’t fret,” he pouted while he watched Azirath desperately looking toward the door where they had taken Crowley away. “Crowley will be cleaned and in your chambers soon.” 

He held out his hands apologetically and shrugged. 

“Unfortunately, you won’t find much of a spark in him left. He has been tortured consistently for five-hundred-eighty-odd years. But!” He clapped once. “Be grateful. His sentence was to be tortured for every year he was loyal to _ you _ instead of me. I’ll let you guess at how long that would have been.”

Satan grew pensive and smirked.

“I honestly expected him to last so much longer, being a former Archangel, and all. He always did have a weak heart though, our _ poor _ , _ remorseful _ Jophiel. Felt _ oh-so _ guilty for being the catalyst of my rebellion. Did you know that?”

Azirath could only blink in response. He never really knew the details of how Lucifer gained all of his followers.

Satan smiled. “Oh, yes. I was merely the loudhailer on my tutor’s questioning lips. He put my feelings into words. And I put those words to action. Without him,” he shrugged, “who knows how things would have turned out. I am _ eternally _ grateful,” he purred with malice.

Satan’s guards stood at his sides while he turned around and made for the exit. “At least you can _ finally _ scratch that _ terrible _ itch! I’m sure he won’t mind,” he called merrily before he disappeared.

Azirath was dragged back and dropped on a chair. Beelzebub came to face him with Scarlet twisting anxiously around their neck. They had been the one supporting him all along. They were probably the reason the assassination weapon had not been found on his person. 

“Have a drink,” they shoved a goblet of something into his hands, “then walk out of here with your head held high.”

“Take me to him,” he whispered desperately. 

Beelzebub shook their head and unwrapped the snake from their body. “Get _ this _ out of here. _ Now _.” They handed him the serpent who settled herself quickly on her master.

Instinct made Azirath bring the cup to his lips. The foul, burning taste of whatever it was sharpened the room around him. No one was looking at him anymore. Even Beelzebub had marched off somewhere. Like it was all normal. Like nothing had happened. Maybe they’d all seen this before or something like it. Maybe everyone in that room had been tested as horridly as he just had. Or had some terrible threat hanging over them at all times. Maybe they were all as much of a prisoner as he was now. 

He took another swig that almost didn’t make it past his throat and forced it down into his rebelling stomach. He could smell his fear and the stench of bile on his shirt. He didn’t even bother picking up the clothes they had torn off him from their search. Azirath stood unsteadily with his head as high as he could, his eyes glued to the doorway, and left the party. The sounds of the music and chatter dissolved once he got past the throne room.

Although the voices no longer haunted him, Crowley’s face did. Every time he blinked, Crowley’s eyes stared back at him, making his heart constrict painfully in his chest. Azirath had not imagined it. He was alive. He had been there. He had touched him. He was real. Azirath would have thought it some kind of illusion save for the fact that he had felt Crowley’s essence. His own being had recognized Crowley’s aura before he understood what had happened.

_ And I ignored it! How could I have missed it? No matter now. He’s alive. He’s alive! _

Now that it was fact, every moment away from Crowley was pure agony. He was wracked with worry and holding his middle, trying not to fall to his knees. What if they mistreated him while they cleaned him? What if Satan was lying? What if it was more of his sick mind games? What if he never actually intended to release Crowley, but was just trying to drive Azirath mad? If that was his plan, to drive him mad, it was working.

He was going mad. 

The further he was from that room, the stronger his legs became, the faster his steps carried him. He threw the door to his chamber open and stormed inside. Azirath opened every door, every closet, in a frenzy just in case they had brought Crowley in already. He paced his parlour with a knuckle between his teeth, caught a quick glimpse of himself in a decorative mirror on a wall, and did a double-take. 

He raced to his reflection and was shocked to see how unrecognizable he suddenly seemed. What would Crowley think? Had his friend recognized him before he was taken from the room? If he had, was he as surprised as he to see him? Or was he somehow disappointed with what he saw? 

Air was suddenly hard to come by again. He placed his hands on the wall to steady himself and tried to take deep steadying breaths. When he was finally able to take a loud inhale without whining, he caught a whiff of sick again. He looked down on his shirt and found purple stains. The wine he had ingested at the party had obviously found its way onto his clothes. That could not stand. No, no, he had to be ready to receive Crowley in some kind of put together state, if not emotionally, then fashionably would have to do. 

He whirled around and snapped his fingers, bringing a large standing mirror to rest in front of him. Getting a good look at himself now, he gasped. His silver hair was a tousled mess, wayward strands stuck to his sweaty face. His clothes were in disarray and soiled with vomit, and his eyes, his eyes were red, no longer the ever-changing hazel that Crowley once knew.

Azirath took a step back and waved a hand over himself, simultaneously cleaning and changing himself into a fresh suit. He stared for a long while before he swallowed hard and brought down his hand again, slowly. His short, white-blond curls were back. Though he no longer owned the clothes Crowley had last seen him in, he dressed in more modern light cream colours to make up for it. Azirath blinked at his reflection. His cheeks were still hollow. The dark circles around his eyes still present. His irises were still red. The person in the mirror would never be… Aziraphale. This person in the mirror was a shadow of his former self. A mockery. A lie.

Azirath gripped the sides of the mirror and rested his head on its cool surface. He wasn’t an angel anymore. He was a demon. No, worse than that; a monster. A violent, cruel, and cold Prince of Hell who had earned his title by imprisoning angels and humans… and murdering. He flinched at the abrupt vision of Michael’s head rolling on the floor before it burned to ash and then to nothing. With a terrible cry, he punched the glass and it shattered to pieces at his feet.

_ How had this all happened?! _

“I sold my soul, that’s how,” he answered himself numbly. “For revenge.” He chuckled mirthlessly. Satan was known as the Deceiver for a good reason, apparently. Azirath growled. He’d underestimated the Father of Lies. How stupid could he have been?

A knock came at the door. Azirath hissed and snapped his head up. He looked in the broken mirror one last time and quickly decided his attempt at recapturing his past self was ridiculous and changed back to his demonic form. With a snap, the mess was gone. He tried not to race to the door, all the while fidgeting with his cuffs and tugging on his coat. The last thing he did was an adjustment to his already perfect tie as he took in a long breath before finally tearing the door open with a bit too much force. 

Beelzebub charged in, pushing past a stunned Azirath, and silenced the room for privacy. A risky miracle but very much needed now. “Where is he?”

Azirath looked out into the hall and found no one but his guards, he entered the room again and shut the door behind him. “Not here. I’ve been waiting.” When Beelzebub turned around, he caught fear in their eyes. “You think something awful is happening to him?” He asked nervously while he worried away at his unadorned fingers, a tick he hadn’t experienced since…

“He’s probably just getting a bath or something,” Beelzebub replied cautiously. The fear never quite leaving their eyes. “Did you hide it?” They whispered.

“What? Shit!” Azirath ran to Scarlet and passed a hand over her body, sending the Holy Water back to his safe in his home. He breathed a sigh of relief and gave the serpent a reassuring caress. He dragged a weak hand over his face and let out a puff of air. “Thank you. For… saving me. When you said to prepare for the worst, I didn’t, I didn’t _ think-- _” and then it hit him.

A chill ran through him as he lifted his gaze slowly to Beelzebub’s guarded face.

There was a moment of silent staring.

“Did… you… _ know _?” Azirath asked quietly. He watched for the slightest change in their expression. Their nostrils flared some, their pupils dilated, they swallowed. He felt his left eye twitch. The malice that had festered and grown throughout the centuries bubbled to the surface with a cold and raging fury. “You,” he breathed, “are dead,” he finished simply. 

And lunged. 

Beelzebub had already been prepared for a Hellish outburst, so they were quick to dodge his attack. They’d seen him angry before, but this transformation was even more terrifying, that is, if you hadn’t seen _ Satan _ angry. And they had. 

Azirath was a hissing, snarling, beast. His nails had grown long and sharp, his eyes were swallowed whole by bright, red blood, and all of his teeth were pointed sharp. “You _ treacherous _ INSECT!” He manifested a Hell-flaming cinquedea, another tribute to his once thought-to-be-fallen friend, and pointed it at his foe.

He moved too fast that time and had sliced their arm. They hissed in pain and dodged again. “I didn’t know he’d release him!”

Azirath roared and threw his whole weight into his next attack, nailing himself to the wall when the fly had escaped him again. “So, you let me believe he was _ destroyed _ !” He tugged his shortsword free, leaving a burning hole behind. “Because you needed a _ SUICIDE BOMBER!” _

“By the time I found out, he was already--”

“ARGH!” He lunged again, predicting they would divert to the left. He twirled in place, felt contact, and smiled.

Beelzebub dropped to the ground holding their side. They swallowed their wail. They watched Azirath raise his sword. He was about to bring it down on their head. “If you discorporate me you’ll have to explain why! Think, what happens to Crowley then?”

Azirath halted. Logic was trying to weasel its way into his murdering haze. Crowley. Crowley-Crowley-Crowley. 

Beelzebub kept talking. “Crowley told me not to tell you.”

He snarled. “LIES!”

“He knew you’d try to save him and get yourself caught and tortured, or worse - destroyed! He said it didn’t matter how long it took, he’d find a way to find you again. To trust him.”

The rage was turning into grief. Azirath wheezed and stumbled back until he hit the wall behind him.

“But by the time I saw him again, he was… he was _ gone _ , Azirath.” Beelzebub groaned in pain as they stood and faced their attacker. Blood was pooling at their feet but the injury was not beyond repair. “What Satan has _ gifted _ to you is not Crowley. He’s been broken.”

“No,” he pleaded. He didn’t want to hear it. He’d been given hope and now they were taking it away again. He couldn’t take much more of this Hell.

“He would have been better off destroyed,” they finally said in a rush. They chanced at healing their wound before more blood could be lost.

Azirath slid to the ground, shortsword extinguishing along with his hope. “You should have told me!” He cried as blood dripped from his eyes and slid down his cheeks. _ NO! _He would not give in to grief, not until he saw Crowley with his own eyes. Not until he was sure. 

“You’re probably right,” Beelzebub sighed. “It’s why I told you not to go through with it tonight,” they whispered. “Damn these human vessels and their _ feelings _!” They sighed. “Still, you probably would have failed anyway. I was too eager and stupid to think it could happen tonight.” 

Another knock came at the door. The demons miracled away the blood and signs of struggle. Azirath ran to the door this time and flung it open so hard the knob lodged itself in the wall.

One of Hastur’s lackeys was standing there with a worried look. 

“What?!” Azirath demanded.

“Um, I have… I have a message.” He held up a note.

Azirath snatched it from him and read.

_ You won’t believe who I ran into in Slave Prep. I’m so glad your boyfriend is alive and well, because I have a little score to settle with the old snake. _

_ -Hastur, Duke of Hell _   
  


No one saw it coming, but Hastur’s assistant was suddenly missing a head. Kicking the dismembered head out of the way, Azirath stormed down the halls, cinquedea aflame once more. He went into a sprint before closing his eyes hard and vanishing into thin air.

Beelzebub picked up the note. “Fuck.” They thought about chasing him down but knew it was too late. They shook their head and miracled away the body, then turned to the two guards at the door. “What the fuck are two standing here for? Tend to your prince! To Slave Prep, now!”

The guards saluted, ran off, and vanished.

Azirath could handle this himself. The worst that could happen is the lot of them getting discorporated. Unless Hastur had some holy weapon lying around, which was unlikely. It would be extremely inconvenient but manageable. They could always pull some strings, plus, Azirath was a prince now. They couldn’t keep him in Hell for long.

They finally decided there were more important matters to attend to. They needed to meet with Gabriel as soon as possible and inform him that their plan had failed. They needed to think of something new, because there was no way in Hell Azirath would jeopardize Crowley’s life. If he’d been willing to betray, murder, and destroy when he thought Crowley was gone for good, they perished the thought of what he was capable of now to keep him alive, even if Crowley was just a lifeless husk now.

They shut and locked up Azirath’s room and stalked to their own. When they reached their bedchamber, they took off their hat and shook it out. The flies erupted from the hat and clouded around them. 

“Hello, maggots,” they greeted almost lovingly, “I need you to send a message to the Flower.” Their familiars buzzed around them disapprovingly. “I know, but we must.” The flies huddled closer to Beelzebub’s mouth as they whispered their message. 

The familiars almost flew off before Beelzebub tutted and wagged a finger. “Let me see you get it right. We don’t want to repeat what happened last time.” The flies had mixed up the words causing a whole months delay in transferring weapons to another rebel base.

The flies drooped guiltily but then swarmed and landed on the wall before their master. They scuttled and flitted around until the letters formed.

** _THE DOVE HAS THE WORM. HAIL SATAN. _ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had totally not realized that this chapter comes before the reunion chapter... so ya'll are still kinda hanging on that cliff and I feel just awful about that! Which is why I released a bit early again to make up for it! I know it's not enough. I'm SORRY! BUT, next chapter for sure, our Ineffable Husbands shall be reunited... with, of course, more violence, death, and ANGST!
> 
> First draft of chapter 12 is in the can! I still think it'll end on 15 but we shall see!
> 
> Once again, THANK YOU for the kudos, comments, and shares! You brighten my days and spur me on!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to post early again because I've got another cold and I'm feeling sorry for all of you dangling by the tips of your fingers lol. Plus, 1st draft of chapter 13 is now in the beta stage! 
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran and Tim! I really seem to miss a lot of words. lol
> 
> On with the show!
> 
> ***Warning: Bloody character death***

Hastur was greatly disappointed. Here he was, Ligur's murderer, right in front of him, ripe for a beating - at the very least - and he had nothing but bats in the belfry. He waved a vigorous, bandaged hand before Crowley's dazed eyes.

"I know you're fakin' it!" Hastur yelled at him. "If you think your little _ away-with-the-faeries _ act is going to work on me, you've got another thing coming pal!"

The Duke stood up and snarled while he adjusted his neck brace. He still hadn't miracled away his wounds caused by Azirath because his harassment complaint to HR (Hell Resources) had been delayed, again, due to the Recognition Ceremony. 

"I can't believe you've been alive all this time," Hastur sneered. "You should have been destroyed for what you'd done. Ligur did nothing to you!"

He backhanded Crowley's face with the wrong hand and shrieked. "OW! You'll pay for that too!" 

Just as he was about to send a knee to Crowley's stomach, a flaming blade was at his throat. 

Azirath murmured dangerously in his ear. "How many fools do I have to kill today, hm?" 

"Go ahead," Hastur prompted with a smile. "I'm tallying up all your abuse on a fellow Duke. Already went to HR and everything." He giggled maliciously.

Azirath had his eyes trained on Hastur's ear, trying with all his might not to look at Crowley who was right before him. He didn't want his friend seeing him this way, but Hastur was dangerous and needed curbing.

"And on your way to HR, did you happen to miss my inauguration?" Azirath sneered. "I'm not a Duke anymore, you irritating lizard. I'm your Prince."

"Not until you pass the test!" Hastur screeched with denial. There was no way that Azirath would pass Satan's test, whatever it was. "A fledgeling demon like you will never--" 

"You really are stupid, aren't you," he hissed and jerked Hastur back and away from Crowley. "I already passed," he whispered harshly into Hastur's ear, hoping that Crowley would not hear his sin. "The Archangel Michael was destroyed by my very hands. Discorporating a Duke falls appalling short, but it's a pleasure I'll take in nonetheless, make no mistake!"

Hastur's eyes widened with shock, and his lips fell into a frown. "Impossible."

"You dare touch what's mine? A gift to me from Satan himself?! I think our Lord would be much displeased with you. I wonder what he'd let me do to you once I tell him of your misdeed."

Hastur scoffed, albeit a bit weakly. "You're bluffing. You would have discorporated me by now if any of that rubbish were true!

It was true, Azirath was itching to slice open his throat, but - he finally looked at Crowley. His best friend was half-naked, in nothing but a loincloth. His long matted hair was hanging over his face. He was covered in filth. His eyes were half-lidded and empty.

"Oh," Hastur grinned, "don't wanna show your little _ sweetheart _ your dark side?" He laughed maniacally. "Poor, Crowley! You wouldn't believe the things your dearly beloved Aziraphale has--"

_ SLICE. _

Azirath continued to watch Crowley for any sign of life in his eyes while Hastur gurgled and sputtered to the floor, spraying blood everywhere.

Nothing. Not a flinch. Not a twitch. 

Azirath unceremoniously stepped over Hastur's corpse and stood mere inches away from his best friend. He tipped his head to make eye contact, but Crowley's eyes were unfocused.

"Hello, Crowley," he attempted quietly. 

Azirath cleared his throat and tried to will his old, gentle voice forth. It wasn't very difficult, he would find. Crowley seemed to awaken something in him that he thought long since gone.

"It's me. Azira...phale. I know I look a little different, but, I can assure it's... still me." He wasn't so sure. Azirath lifted a hand to touch him but thought better of it. "You're safe now." At least he hoped. 

Azirath suddenly realised how exposed Crowley was and quickly shed his coat. "You must be cold, hm?" Carefully he draped his jacket over and around his shoulders. He smiled kindly at his friend, and then he paused and leaned in close. "Crowley," he whispered, "if this is a farce - if you're only playing at being..." he gulped and tried to think of a word other than broken, "_ traumatised,_ give me a sign. Please."

He leaned back and watched for anything. "Blink twice or something," he whispered again.

His guards arrived on the scene. "My lord, are you all right?"

Azirath bit down on his lip and resumed his former persona. "Fine. Have that taken to Body Processing." He motioned at Hastur's lifeless vessel. 

"And the slave?" The other asked.

Azirath already hated himself more than usual. "The slave is a gift from Our Lord, Satan. He is my property, and you are charged with protecting my property." He turned to his guards and eyed them with a warning. "He is not to be mistreated by anyone. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord." They answered in unison. 

One of the guards left the room and waved down a human to clean up the mess and remove Hastur's body. The other approached Crowley and went to place a hand on him. 

Azirath snatched his wrist in mid-air. "I'll tend to him." 

The guard removed his hand and studied Crowley. They seemed to gain some understanding from the situation. "Shall I get someone to prepare him for you?"

"No," he replied curtly. "I will tend to him _ myself_," he reiterated. "No one else is to touch him. Leave us."

"Yes, sir." 

The room was emptied, and Azirath looked out in the hall suspiciously, then closed the door. He approached Crowley again. 

"Can you walk?" He asked, hoping for an answer. 

When Crowley did not respond, Azirath reached for his hand slowly. Perfectly manicured fingers touched chipped and bleeding ones. Crowley's hand flinched. Azirath was startled by the response, his only response so far then clasped his hand gently and pulled slightly.

Crowley took two steps forward. _ So_, Azirath thought, _ you have reflexes_. "All right. I'm going to take us to my room. I don't think it prudent to parade around the castle. So," he took Crowley's other hand that reflexively gripped him, "I'm going to miracle us there. You seem open enough for it. Just don't fight it and all should be well. All right?"

Of course, there was no objection, no response whatsoever.

Miracles never worked on immortals unless they allowed it. If Crowley fought his efforts in any way, worst-case scenario, they'd manifest in a volcano or something. Best case, they'd still be standing there.

Azirath inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, took a step backwards while Crowley followed, and a moment later, they were in his washroom. He smiled at his success. "Good," he complimented his friend, "very good."

He looked around and suddenly felt nervous.

"So, I suppose you'd let me miracle you clean as well?"

Silence.

"Or I could give you," he cleared his throat, "a bath."

Nothing.

"You don't think I'd do it, do you?" He chuckled nervously. "Just to get a rise out of you, I would." He narrowed his eyes at his friend.

Zilch.

"Well, then, if this is a game of chicken, you are about to start clucking! Because," he nodded and shrugged, "I'm going to do it," he warned, not sounding convincing at all.

Was Crowley really that much of a bastard, that he could be doing all this for a laugh? Yes. It was possible. Azirath grimaced. 

"_Okay_," he lilted as he approached the valve. "I'm filling the tub," he announced and turned the knobs. Then he circled him and removed his coat.

If Crowley didn't break soon, he'd be scrubbing his best friend's naked body. Not that he hadn't seen him naked before. They had met in bathhouses in Rome and other places. But actually bathing one _ another _? No. 

They'd groomed each other's wings on occasion. Not much difference there, was it? And why shouldn't he take care of his only friend, especially after the horrors he must have gone through? A warm soak, with some bath salts, a light massage on his abused shoulders... could be just what the doctor ordered. 

Temptation accomplished.

_NO, _Azirath screamed in his mind, _not a temptation. This has nothing to do with how I feel for him. I'm caring for my friend. My friend who's been... tortured. Good lord, he's been tortured._ _And it wouldn't have happened if I'd listened to him in the first place._

It was that horrible fact that solidified his decision.

The tub was nearly full. Azirath pulled some salts meant for relaxation and healing and poured some in the water. He adjusted the temperature until he felt it warm enough. He went around Crowley once more from behind, placed his hands on his loincloth, and hesitated only a moment before removing it. 

Azirath settled a palm to the small of Crowley's back and grabbed his arm with his free hand. He was shocked at how cold Crowley's skin was. _ More reason to dip him into warm waters, if only to rid him of the chill. _ It only took a gentle nudge to get him walking to the tub, and Crowley climbed in as soon as his knees touched its lip. 

He gasped audibly, and Azirath was quick to worry. "Oh, is it too hot?" Before he could help Crowley out, his friend was already lowering himself into the water. He was panting, but otherwise, his condition was unchanged.

The water settled at mid-chest. Azirath produced a small stool to perch on, and a pitcher and washcloth. The water was already murky. Azirath removed his tie and waistcoat, then rolled up his sleeves. He decided to start from the head down and poured shampoo into his hands. Sitting behind Crowley, he lathered his head and began his extremely gentle kneading. Crowley's hair was longer than he'd ever seen it and it took a long time to wash and untangle, but once he was done, Azirath was utterly enchanted by it. He could hardly wait to see his dry and flowing waves. 

Azirath manoeuvred around to face him and found Crowley with his eyes closed and breathing evenly. His heart broke at seeing his friend look so serene, a far cry from the haunted look from earlier.

The prince sighed and continued his ministrations. He had to drain and refill the tub several times. Crowley would flinch and jerk every once in a while to the sound of rushing water or the loud squeak of the valves. Other than that, he remained blissfully asleep. Or at least Azirath hoped it was blissful. 

Azirath's fingers dipped below Crowley's hips. He halted, winced, and decided to skip to his mid-thighs and work downward from there. When there was nothing else left to wash, Azirath sighed and looked at Crowley's face. His eyes were still closed. Azirath scoffed lightly and shook his head.

"Cluck, cluck," he conceded and snapped the rest of him clean. 

It was much harder to get Crowley out of the bathtub, but Azirath was finally able to rouse him and get him to step out of it. Rubbing Crowley dry, this time there was no avoiding getting a good look at his front. If he didn't have romantic feelings for his friend, this would be easy. He wouldn't have even thought twice about any of this. But because he was, in fact, in love with his best friend, now more than ever that he was indeed alive, it was difficult not to stare.

Stars above, but he was beautiful. Every inch of him was gorgeous. Azirath was glad to notice he wasn't bruised or scarred. Not that it said anything about what kind of pain he had suffered or not.

Azirath summoned black silk pyjamas and dressed him. "I wonder if you'd eat if I tried to feed you," he mused aloud as he sat him down by the fireplace and combed his hair. "I know I was the more hedonistic one, but," he smiled, "I can't stop thinking about a bowl of hearty chicken soup." His smile faded. "Maybe something in your belly will help ground you. At least keep you warm - you run so cold." He smirked. "Might have to borrow Scarlet's heat lamp, I mean, you were a snake." He chuckled. "Oh!" He almost jumped with excitement. "You must meet Scarlet! You'll just adore her." His enthusiasm suddenly felt odd. Azirath hadn't experienced that kind of reaction since before the war.

"Maybe tomorrow." He was silent for a moment. "I'm sure you've been through a lot," he said gravely. "If you're not talking to me because," his chest tightened, "because you blame me, I... well, I would understand." 

His hands began to tremble so much that he couldn't keep hold of the comb. It fell to the floor, and he stared at it while he spoke again. "Please forgive me," he whispered. He circled the chair and dropped to his knees before his friend. Crowley's eyes were on the flames. Empty. Azirath claimed his hands. "I'm _so _ sorry," he wept. The tears on his face were alien things he hardly ever allowed himself, tinged pink — tears with blood. He wrapped his arms around Crowley's legs, laid his head on his lap, and cried.

Azirath's sobs wracked through him so strongly that he almost didn't feel the hand on his head. He gasped loudly, let out a shaky breath, and held completely still. Crowley's hand was definitely resting on him. He dared hope and lifted his head slowly. Crowley's hand fell to his lap again. His eyes were still blank and trained on the dying fire. 

"Just another reflex," Azirath mumbled, despondent. He stood up abruptly. "Or maybe not!" He was determined not to give up hope for his friend. "It hasn't even been a full day yet. Maybe you just need time. Yes." 

He nodded and helped Crowley to stand, leading him to the bedroom. 

"You need proper rest. Sleep was how you recharged back then. Sleep was how you healed." He placed Crowley into his unused bed, fluffed the pillows, and tucked him in. "Time," he assured himself and his friend. "Time will heal. And we have lots of that now, don't we?" 

He tucked fire-red locks behind Crowley's ear and felt the urge to place a kiss on his forehead. He licked his lips and bent over him to do it but paused a hair's breadth away. "I won't let anyone harm you again," he promised. "I'd sooner destroy myself to protect you before they take you from me again. And I will take care of you. I don't care how long - for all eternity if I must - I will _ not _ abandon you. I _ swear _ it." He paused only to calm his rising anger at everything that had been done to his beloved, everything that could have been avoided. "Even if you hate me."

Azirath stood erect once more and placed a palm on each of Crowley's temples.

"Rest well." He knew he would because he made sure of it as he closed his eyes and induced a dreamless sleep. 

Azirath summoned his reading chair and kept vigil over Crowley for the rest of the night.

\--------

The Sanctuary was deep in the caverns of the Earth. Not the skies. It would have been a fun satire; angels driven into the ground where humans once thought Hell resided. But no one who lived here found the mockery funny. The humans had grown in numbers safely here, with the help of the angels that had survived the war, the ones who stayed behind to try and right things. The rogues would sometimes find themselves here, but most of them had fled the galaxy, only to be captured and turned to demons, or destroyed.

Gabriel was rechecking the list. Thanks to demons, if one could believe it, their new communication routes were safer. He never thought he'd see the day. Angels and demons, striving together to make the world a better place, it was laughable, but it was working. He had Beelzebub to thank.

"Gabriel!" Uriel landed beside him. "They've sent a message."

"Finally. The Recognition Ceremony was hours ago." Gabriel manifested as close as possible to the barrier. The disgusting flies were a welcoming sight. They arranged themselves accordingly, and Gabriel sighed with disappointment. "Well-p. There goes our kamikaze."

"What?" Uriel prompted, "what happened. 

"Satan lives, and Azirath is out." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What do you mean he's out? Did they discover him before he could deal the final blow?"

Gabriel shook his head. "He's got Crowley."

"Shit." Uriel paced then grew hopefull. "He's still on the council though, maybe he can--"

"His loyalty has always been to Crowley, which means he won't risk Satan's wrath. All we can hope for now is that he doesn't talk."

"Shit!" Uriel groaned. "I knew I didn't like him for a reason. He's a traitor. Always had been.”

Gabriel never liked him either, but things were different now. When Hellfire destroyed the archives in Heaven, the angels all got their memories back. They remembered their fallen friends. The angels were quick to lay the blame on the Archangels who decided to cast the rebels out. None of this would be happening if Gabriel hadn't pushed for war... both times. He had wronged Aziraphale, and now Azirath was the result of his wrongdoings. He couldn't blame him. 

"He will listen to Crowley, I'm certain of it," Gabriel finally muttered. 

"What makes you think Crowley will be for us?"

"Don't forget that they were the only ones trying to save the world from destruction." Gabriel felt shame. "Maybe, now that Crowley is safe, or safer, they'll want to help put things right."

"That's a big maybe to hang hope on."

"I know." Gabriel sighed again and nodded. "I need to meet with them."

Uriel started. "Are you mad? Azirath will _ kill _ you. Then they'll destroy you."

"We need them," he said simply.

"We need _ you _! Send someone else," Uriel begged. 

"It will mean more if I go. Alone." Gabriel turned to the flies. "Tell your master this: Congrats. Give them Flowers."

The flies swarmed and were ready to leave. 

"Ah-ah-ah! Nu-uh. I don't trust you, maggots. Spell it out," he demanded. They seemed to collectively sigh in frustration and did what was asked. "Good," Gabriel shooed them away.

"Wait," Uriel placed a hand on Gabriel's arm. "What of Michael?"

Gabriel gave them a grim look. "I think it's safe to assume that Azirath passed his test."

They were silent for some time. 

"I'll, uh, tell the others." Uriel left her colleague and descended. 

Gabriel looked to the dark sky, closed his eyes, and pressed his hands together in prayer. "God," he rasped, "please forgive us." It was the same prayer he sent out into the void every night. A prayer that had yet to be answered.

Wherever God was, She was certainly not here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek. Not a very happy reunion, but there ya have it. 
> 
> So, what do you all think? Is Crowley really broken? Think Aziraphale's got the right idea? Could something else be the problem? What does Satan hope to gain from this? Just Azirath's loyalty?
> 
> Gabriel is determined to seek them out. How do you think that reunion will go? lol
> 
> Your comments shall be my medicine while I rot in bed. Thank so much for all the support and comments! Oh, and by the way! I know I'm adding art to the chapters but if there is a scene you'd like to draw out, I'd love to feature it! 
> 
> Good night!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all give me hope that I might be able to churn out original work someday! I'd swoon if I ever earned money writing stories like this one. It's definitely still a goal. 
> 
> Anyway, I've started writing chapter 14 already. I'm feeling MUCH better, so I hope that means that I'll finish that chapter this week coming up. 
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran & Tim!!
> 
> Prepare for more Satan and his twisted mind games in this chapter!

Azirath had kept his eyes on the sleeping Crowley the entire night through. Partly because he was watching for any change, and partly because he still could not believe that Crowley was actually there. He feared that if he even blinked, upon opening his eyes Crowley would be gone. It should have been morning by now, and there did seem to be a little more orange in the sky, but his friend had barely moved all night.

A knock came at the door. Immediately, Azirath's anxiety skyrocketed to a degree he was no longer used to. He could barely leave Crowley's side, but he forced himself to anyway.

"I'll be right back. Promise," he whispered. He took his hand and squeezed it gently.

Azirath stormed to the door and threw it open to find Beelzebub. He took a steadying breath. He really did not want to get violent, not now. "What?" He asked, curtly.

"We have to talk," Beelzebub replied stoically.

Azirath shook his head and pursed his lips, his anger rising. "There is nothing to talk about. Leave." He was about to close the door when Beelzebub placed a boot in the way.

"They want to send you flowers," the prince said casually, "and congratulate you in person."

It took a moment to process what his colleague was referring to, having been so preoccupied with his friend, he had no patience for any other business. The code name finally registered. Gabriel wanted to meet. 

Azirath snorted. "How quaint," he sneered, then opened the door for Beelzebub to enter. 

He slammed the door shut, then pushed past Beelzebub to get back to Crowley. Azirath stopped at the doorway and turned abruptly to face the bug. "I don't think I have to stipulate that if you even look at him the wrong way, I'll tear you limb from limb."

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. "I have no reason to hurt him."

"Don't you?" Azirath took a giant step into their personal space. "His mere presence upsets all your petty little plans for me, _ mentor," _ He spat with disdain. "If I didn't trust you _ before _, imagine now."

Beelzebub ignored him and sighed. "How is he?" They were actually curious, maybe even a tad concerned.

Azirath scoffed and marched into the room. "Don't even pretend to care." He stood at Crowley's bedside, ready for anything should Beelzebub have any malicious intent.

"He was my number one agent on the ground for millennia." That was the only rebuttal they were willing to give. They approached the bed slowly and took in the sleeping Crowley. He looked serene enough, clean, and well cared for. "Is he..."

"He's fine," Azirath said resolutely, "he'll be fine. In time."

Beelzebub looked at Azirath's stubborn face. He obviously needed to believe his words, so they nodded. "Said anything?"

Azirath gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders slumping a bit. He sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I already told you."

"Well, I don't want flowers. If they deliver them to me, I'll crush them under my heel and throw them in the rubbish. It'd be a pity for you since you seem to enjoy them so much. So, accept them on my behalf and keep them out of my sight." He could feel his eyes warm dangerously at his mounting fury.

The red glint in his eyes always meant trouble. "Fine with me," they said with a shrug. "Your loyalty..."

"Is to Crowley," he stated. 

"Then your loyalty is to Satan," they reasoned aloud.

"Ipso facto." There had been no hesitation.

They stared at each other silently for a while before Beelzebub looked at Crowley again and nodded. "Praise Satan," they finally replied dryly.

"Praise Satan." Azirath felt a tinge of guilt, possibly because Crowley was in the room. As Beelzebub turned to leave, he called after them. "I'll do anything to keep him safe. Understand?"

Beelzebub looked over their shoulder and regarded the new prince. He was giving them a knowing look that they understood all too well. 

He'd keep out of the way if it meant to keep Crowley safe from them. He'd keep quiet. If there were a better offer from the rebels that would get them both to safety, he'd take it.

"I'll see what I can do." They replied honestly. As they walked away, they couldn't help but admit to themselves that as long as Azirath was under Satan's thumb, he was a liability. They hoped they wouldn't have to dispose of Azirath and Crowley both. Right now, there was nothing they could do about it anyway. They had to move on.

  
  


Weeks went by, and Azirath was growing antsy. He thought he and Crowley would be released by now, but Satan had not given the order yet, and worse still, Satan wished to call on the council soon.

He hoped that Satan did not plan on keeping them there forever, but knew it was a high possibility. At least he was safe from Beelzebub for now, but their little treaty would not last long, he would not delude himself to think so. Azirath was stuck in neutral, smack in the middle between Satan and the Rebels. He had grown so used to being in control, not caring whether he lived or died, but he had Crowley and an ever-growing dread that was driving him mad.

Crowley had stayed asleep mostly, and any slight change in position or breathing pattern seemed like a victory to Azirath. He continued bathing him. Tried feeding him that chicken soup he talked about. Brushed his hair. Spoke to him like they were actually having a conversation, usually about petty, inconsequential things. Sometimes, Azirath would confess some of his sins. Tried to catch Crowley up with what had happened with the world after the war. 

Scarlet had taken to him instantly, he shouldn't have been surprised. It was a relief because he knew she'd protect him whenever he'd be called away. The serpent would not be able to do much, but at least he'd feel her distress if there was danger. She was coiled on Crowley's chest at the moment as Azirath read out loud, hoping that somehow his friend was gaining comfort from it.

The call finally came. One of his guards announced himself and delivered a note. The council was to meet, Azirath swore under his breath, and he was to bring Crowley along. He shot out of his seat and tore the letter to shreds. There was absolutely no reason for Crowley to be there other than the monster to continue threatening Azirath. He paced the room and thought about how to make it clear to the Devil that he understood what was at stake, and would not betray him.

They only way was to obey.

The council members were all gathered save for Adam and Satan, who had yet to arrive. Everyone was ogling Crowley, who was loosely clinging to Azirath's arm, staring at the ground. Azirath glared at the empty space in front of him, occasionally and discreetly stroking Crowley's hand in reassurance. For some reason, the small act felt more intimate than the baths he'd given him.

Azirath had braided Crowley's lengthy hair as best he could. It was plain but well-kempt and out of the way. He'd dressed Crowley in a black linen suit with a simple charcoal grey shirt and no tie, to keep him formal but comfortable. It was fitted the way he thought Crowley would like... tight. Azirath had suppressed a groan after looking him over, the suit hugged all the right places. Briefly, Azirath considered manifesting Crowley's beloved sunglasses. They were as close as possible to the last pair he'd worn. He thought better of it, thinking that Satan would not appreciate trying to hide anything from him.

The rulers of New Earth finally arrived. The council greeted their Masters and waited for them to be seated. It had not escaped Azirath that there was no seat placed at the table for his friend. When Satan motioned for them to be seated, Azirath reluctantly removed Crowley's hand from its perch and placed him slightly behind his chair to his side.

"Ah, good, our guest was able to attend," Satan greeted while looking past Azirath.

The prince raised his gaze and found Adam in complete shock, mouth hanging open and eyebrows disappearing under his hair. 

Azirath was starting to panic. He was stuck between his role of cruel demon who cared for nothing and Crowley's protector. If he gave in to his instinct to protect Crowley, he'd undoubtedly appear weak. If he acted like he cared too little, Satan might be tempted to see how far he could push his buttons. It was quite the ordeal.

Azirath bowed in their direction. "As requested, my Lord," he replied reverently.

Satan smiled, then commenced the meeting. Crowley’s presence was largely ignored from that point on. The meeting centred mainly on setting some of Azirath's previous suggestions in motion. Primarily installing an official religion. 

"Azirath, I'd like for you to take the helm of this little project," Satan drawled. "You have the most knowledge on dogma and how religion is structured to gain the most followers. I think you'd be perfect for the job."

Azirath's stomach soured. He was tasked with the vilest of his proposals; making Satan a god. "What high praise, my Lord. I would be honoured. I have many texts in my possession that will certainly be of use."

The Deceiver smiled politely. "While you're working on that, Beelzebub," he turned to them, "I want your soldiers to gather as many slaves as possible to build the first official church."

"It shall be done, my Lord."

"Then," Satan continued, "once all that is established," he grinned maliciously, "I will _ bless _ the people with a few miracles." He looked to Famine. "You will remove your influence over the lands of the most faithful of my worshipers." Famine looked like he wanted to scowl but dared not to. "You will also ravage the lands of the non-believers." Those words immediately removed his any displeasure. Famine arm pumped with victory.

Satan went to address Death but then shrugged and moved on to War and Pollution. "I have something special for you two."

War preened at his words and Pollution grinned. 

"Some of the false wars between our new nations must end. But!" He winked at them both. "I want Pollution to create some addictive poisons. And, War, you will be in charge of creating a black market for it."

"Drug Wars," War rubbed their hands together excitedly.

"Precisely!" Satan clapped his hands hard. "See? All we needed was some new blood to shake things up." He turned to Adam and placed a firm grip on his shoulder. "My son," he said proudly, "you see now that you have a voice here. Your presence and ideas are valued." He gave him a small shake and turned to Azirath.

"Azirath, I know your new occupation will keep you very busy, but seeing that your counsel to my son is what inspired him to finally take his rightful place by my side, I wonder if you would find any objection to tutoring Adam personally."

Azirath swallowed down his trepidation. He had to accept, but that would undoubtedly mean residing at the castle permanently. "No objection whatsoever. I'd be delighted." He was desperately trying to find a way to escape his fate. He needed to get Crowley as far away from Satan as possible.

"Good," Satan said pointedly, "this means, of course, that you would take residence here." He raised his brow expectantly.

Azirath gave no visible reaction that he was displeased. "Of course." He nodded sagely. "Anything to please my Lord and Saviour," he added piously, all the while thinking about how grateful he was to have Crowley back in his life. 

That was the trick after all. The Deceiver knew when he was being lied to. Azirath had to make sure he sounded honest. The false words needed truthful sentiments behind them. Hopefully, with time, he'd be able to find a way out of this mess. Crowley's safety was his number one priority - his only priority.

Adam observed his new tutor carefully. "I'm looking forward to learning from you, Azirath." His tone was odd, like he was trying to communicate something else entirely. "I'd like to start right away. This evening maybe?"

"As you wish."

"Well, look at that," Satan crooned proudly, "initiative! Meeting adjourned, but I'd like a word with you, Azirath, before you depart."

Everyone left the room quickly, and Azirath noticed that Adam was muttering quietly to his father. Satan narrowed his eyes and sent a suspicious gaze his way. Finally, the Devil nodded and murmured something back. Adam departed, leaving the three of them behind.

Satan curled a finger, beckoning Azirath to him.

The prince stood. 

"Bring him," Satan demanded.

His heart began to hammer, so he stopped it. Everything shut down inside of him after a few moments as he gently placed an arm around Crowley's waist and led him to the monster who had him tortured.

When they reached Satan, he stood and studied the catatonic demon carefully. "Any change?" He asked, curiously.

"He remains unresponsive, save for some reflexes." Azirath had to calm the wrathful haze swirling in his being as he watched Satan poke Crowley right between the eyes.

"Even when you lie with him?" Satan questioned, looking directly into Azirath's eyes.

How Azirath managed not to react, he did not know. Truth. He needed to stick to the truth as close as possible. "I have not lain with him." It took massive effort not to let those words drip with disgust. He would never do such a thing!

Satan scoffed. "No wonder you still seem so tightly wound," he muttered. "Whyever not?"

Azirath shrugged. "Several reasons, I suppose." He looked at Crowley and smiled weakly. "I'm still processing he's even here. It's..." he looked at Satan honestly, "a dream made real." Then his smile faded. "Though, I suppose he's not really here either."

"Mm," Satan nodded, "an unfortunate side effect. A necessary evil. You understand why he had to be punished?"

"Of course," he answered quickly. "Yes, of course. I am grateful that you ended his sentence early. Very grateful." He was.

Satan forced a smile. "What are the other reasons?"

Azirath swallowed. "Other reasons... I haven't...? Erm, well," he gave Crowley a worried glance. He was bound to say things that would shame him before his friend. But it was a matter of survival!

"Think he can hear you?" Satan interrogated with great intrigue.

"I'd like to think so," he replied quietly, "and yet..." he gave Satan a guilty look, "I hope he cannot."

"Tell me," Satan purred. "Tell me what you dread he will hear."

Azirath started his heart again and let his body begin to tremble. _ The truth. Truth. _

"The others," Satan prodded further, "what do you do to them? The red-headed slaves you hunt and take to your abode?"

"I... I..." he bit his lip and glanced at Crowley again. This was torture. Azirath knew he was being tortured, and he had to subject to it or risk everything. "I give them food and wine. I watch them take pleasure in eating..." he let out a shaky breath. 

"What else?"

The room began to fall away as Azirath picture his most holy ritual. "I give them beautiful things. Clothes. Jewellery. Play music."

"You seduce them," Satan encouraged.

Azirath nodded and began to feel the shame of it all pool in his belly, as it always did when he gave in to his weakness. He could feel the first hints of arousal brewing. "Yes."

"Then what?"

He was starting to sweat. "Sometimes... I... we... do things..." he couldn't do it. He couldn't say it.

"You fuck them," Satan helped.

A small, strangled whine escaped his lips as the memories flashed in his mind. Limbs in the dark. Red-hair shining in the barely lit room, enough for him to pretend. To imagine someone else entirely. "Yes," he whispered. More humiliation as he felt the tightness in his trousers.

"And when you're done with them?"

Azirath was silent for a moment, honing in on the screams of his victims. He closed his eyes. "I dispose of them."

Satan chuckled, bringing Azirath out of the fog of his memories. "You've given yourself quite the kink, Azirath. Quite psychotic. Turned yourself into a proper serial killer! A murderous incubus." 

Azirath jutted his chin out in an attempt to preserve some dignity. It failed.

"So," Satan prodded further, "you think you'll murder Crowley after you've taken him?"

He was horrified. "No! No, I'd never hurt him." He fidgeted in place. "I don't keep the others because... they're not him."

"Ah, I see. So, you think you'd be hurting him if you have your way with his body. Rape?"

The prince's eyes widened. "I suppose so." _ Yes, that’s exactly it, you perverse fiend! _

"I wonder if the fact that he was also in love with you would change your perception." It was said like a throwaway line. Like it held no depth whatsoever. Like there was nothing at all special to what he'd just said.

Azirath's eyes fluttered, and his heart skipped. He felt faint. "Wha..what," he rasped dumbfounded. He was like a ship off course, heading for the rocks. 

"Oh, you didn't know?" The Devil lilted, amused. "Surely you knew. But of course, Crowley was in love with you. He defied me, knowingly risked my wrath... for _ you _." He laughed openly. "Come now, don't tell me it never crossed your mind."

Azirath was dangerously close to the shallows, desperate for a guiding light to lead him back to sanity. "I’ve... considered it... but..."

"Oh, yes. He confessed to desiring your human vessel. That he loved you in every way, including the human way. Do you know what killed his spirit finally during his torture?"

Azirath somehow was able to make eye contact with the Evil Incarnate standing before him.

"Succumbing to the fact that you could never love him as he loved you. That he chose you over everything else, no matter the cost, and yet you chose to save the world instead. No place in Heaven. No place in Hell. He gambled on love and lost it all. Lost his soul." 

The prince was as lifeless and unmoving as his friend next to him. The horror of it all too much to process.

Satan shook his head solemnly. "Love is the true evil, Azirath, and yet God made us to crave it. The ultimate addiction that leads to ruin. But, who knows," he was suddenly cheery, "maybe you can wake your sleeping beauty with true love's kiss." He winked. "Or true loves... coitus." He chuckled, most amused and turned to leave. "Something to think about," he wagged a finger and was about to exit entirely before he changed his tune.

"Oh, by the way!" Satan waved a dismissive hand in the air. "My son would like to study _ abroad _. In your home. You can leave immediately to prepare for his lesson this evening. I will be sending his guards with him for his protection, of course, but he will live with you for as long as he desires. That will be all. Until we meet again!" 

Azirath was frozen in place for sometime when he finally blinked out of his stupor and found that he and Crowley were alone in the room. He snatched Crowley's hand and whisked him to his private home with a desperate miracle. In the space of a moment, they were standing in his living area.

He let Crowley go, feeling too sick, too filthy to even look at his precious, beloved friend, let alone touch him. With a thought, he lit a fire and braced himself against the mantle. He stared at the flames, took in one long breath, and roared as loud as his human vessel would let him. When he was done, he slammed a fist down, nearly breaking his hand.

"FUCK! THAT...ARGH..._ FUCK _!"

"I know. Sick bastard, right?"

Azirath's spine went rigid, and his eyes bulged out of his skull at the sound of that impossible voice.

"Care for a drink, angel? Sounds like you've had a rough handful of centuries."

The demon prince reeled around, pressing himself against the fireplace to keep from collapsing. 

There was Crowley. 

Pouring himself a fucking scotch like he owned the place.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D .....
> 
> Uh-oh. I can feel the outrage even before I've posted this publicly. 
> 
> Most of you were RIGHT about Crowley! How does it feel? Ya like? Ya happy? How do you think Aziraphale is going to react to this little stunt? Do any of you have any thoughts about Adam or Satan? 
> 
> Also, how do you all feel about NSFW art in future chapters????
> 
> ALSO, I keep breaking my own heart and subscribing to WIP's lol and I am thristy for GO Human AU's! Any recs?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, another chapter because I was able to finish the first draft of chapter 14 tonight! 
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran & Tim!
> 
> I've officially run out of art! I only have one more for the next chapter (and it's EXPLICIT), so I gotta get crakin'!

_ What fresh Hell is this? _ Crowley had wondered when he was finally dragged from the isolated torture cell he had been confined to, only to be lined up with a group of scrawny, ginger humans. His human vessel had been on auto-pilot for so long that it didn't take any effort at all to put one foot in front of the other, barely a thought really.

At that moment, Crowley, or his true demonic being, was quietly nestled away in the brain, twisted and coiled, like the snake he was, in and along the spaghetti-like mass in his human skull. Since he was still attached to a sack of flesh, his body continued to live on. They wouldn't grant him the mercy of any respite from his ongoing pain, so they kept him alive. Barely. 

He would never forget the first time Satan graced him with his foul presence. The beast actually bought the howls and pleading that poured from Crowley's lips. He did put on a spectacular show, if he thought so himself. It took some trial and error to figure out how to flee from the pain, so he knew what sounds to make under extreme distress, make no mistake about that, but he'd figured it out. 

First, he'd tried blocking the pain receptors. A big mistake, he was discovered immediately, and the attempt was quite short-lived. But while tweaking with the noodles in his head, he remembered that the brain itself felt no pain! Success, he had thought. Stupid demon shites should have paid attention in class! 

The change was instantaneous. Blessed relief came to him as he imagined himself, small and serpent-like, twirling through its brain chunks. 

Still, he couldn't escape every ingenious plan to rip real screams from him. Holy water, no matter where he was settled, burned like a pair of lit, napalm covered bollocks. They never used enough to come close to destroying him, but sure as shit close enough to madness. Over time though, even he could tell they were running out of the good stuff. Still hurt, but he'd hurt worse. 

Not much came close to the pain of Falling, but on one particular visit from his _ dear Lord, _ the psychological trauma came pretty darn close. Satan had turned his eyes on Aziraphale. His angel had Fallen. Satan was watching his every move, having Beelzebub groom him to do his bidding. It was Satan's favourite topic whenever he came around to administer his preferred cruelty. He'd blabber on and on about how _ Azirath _ was made to be a demon. How cruel he was. How easily he murdered. How quickly he was rising in the ranks. How he was losing himself in the carnal pleasures of the world, in the beds of humans - and wasn't it too bad that Aziraphale had never loved him in the first place because then, he would have indeed tasted of his flesh had that been the case.

In the worst of moments, Crowley would dive into his imagination. He'd imagine he was just fine, having picnics on Alpha Centauri with his best friend. Or he'd go back in history and change things. Delve into memories and rewrite them in some romantic way he had always wanted, but never dared make real. He got so good at it that Crowley was starting to think his musing actually happened. It worried him some, but not enough to stop. He only dove deeper, picturing a multitude of ways of confessing his love for Aziraphale and all the ways he would finally reciprocate.

But reality was always right around the corner, pulling him back to Hell. And reality had shown him the face he'd longed to see. Like watching a horror movie in front of an old, staticky telly, he peered through the windows of his skull and saw alien, yet familiar eyes staring back at him. He felt his whole being sigh as he realized that the Father of Lies had not lied at all. His beautiful, sweet Aziraphale had certainly changed, but he was alive.

His beloved's reaction was interesting and shocking. The look of pure dread on Aziraphale's face was palpable. Why did he look so afraid of him? They were friends! He was hoping to be received with joy whenever they met again. The little chuckle at the end gave him some hope, but then Aziraphale had fainted. Crowley supposed it was not an all too strange reaction. Mary Magdalene had reacted quite the same way back then. 

All too soon, Crowley was dragged away from his friend, and wouldn't you know it, kidnapped and cornered by his old _ pal _, Hastur. 

_ Well _ , Crowley thought, _ this might be it. If I don't act now, he'll destroy me for what I did to Ligur. _ Then Aziraphale was before him... and Hastur was no longer. Just like that. Quick as a wink. Except Aziraphale had _ not _ winked, blinked, twitched, nothing, nada. His angel had cut into Hastur's throat like butter, looking Crowley dead in the eyes the whole time while blood spurted everywhere, including on his person. Did he even notice that? No wibble-wobble of doubt. No quivering lip of regret. Cold. Unfeeling. Empty.

No love lost on Hastur, and yet...

_ Whoah. _

Crowley had no idea what or who he was dealing with, but he was sure as eggs is eggs going to find out. 

He'd gleaned enough.

Now he was here, presumably in Aziraphale's home, watching Aziraphale scream bloody murder into a fireplace as he poured himself and his friend a _ much-needed _ drink after that _ disaster _ of a conversation. The fucking prick had stolen his profession of love. Just _ poof _ , gone. Vanished like a fart in a windstorm - not to mention all the other _ tidbits _ said that made Crowley's skin crawl.

"FUCK! THAT...ARGH..._ FUCK _!"

_ Curses now too. _ Crowley couldn't have agreed more though. "I know. Sick bastard, right? Care for a drink, angel? Sounds like you've had a rough handful of centuries."

He heard more than saw Aziraphale spin and knock some trinkets off his mantle. Crowley turned around with both drinks in hand and swagged his way to the petrified Aziraphale whose mouth was dropping and closing like a Celestial Eye goldfish.

"_ Oh-my-God!" _ Aziraphale finally shrieked. 

Crowley shoved the glass into Aziraphale's hardened gut, which he reflexively took. "Nah," he sneered, "heard She pulled Her old reliable vanishing act. Can't say I'm surprised," he drawled.

Aziraphale was still staring at him with saucer-like eyes. He looked terrified, absolutely panic-stricken, which made Crowley want to laugh. Aziraphale barely made a face in Satan's presence but now seemed like he may need a fresh pair of trousers. 

Crowley only broke eye contact when he smelled something burning. "You're on fire."

Aziraphale's brow twitched. "Eh?" He squeaked.

"Your _ arse _ ... is on _ fire," _he pronounced.

His friend furrowed his brow in confusion until a waft of smoke reached his nostrils. He finally seemed to process Crowley's words as he jumped away from the flames, dropping his glass of scotch to the floor in the process, and whacking away at his rear end like a madman. Aziraphale looked so ridiculous, so far from the persona Crowley had gotten to know for weeks, that Crowley smiled. 

Crowley couldn't suppress the first chuckle he'd had in almost six centuries. He sighed with a smidge of hope and relief; maybe his angel was still in there after all. Smooth and serpent-like, he encroached on his friend's personal space.

Azirath hadn't noticed at first. He jumped up and down, shedding his smoking and singed coat to the ground. When he finally turned about, he recoiled back at Crowley's sudden proximity, almost sending himself arse first back into the flames again. Crowley grabbed him abruptly by the collar, pulled him away from the fireplace, and backed him into the wall while simultaneously slamming his untouched drink on the mantle. 

Azirath let out a high-pitched yelp that he wasn't sure he'd ever made in his life. Definitely never made that sound while a demon. But this position was undoubtedly familiar, and it made Azirath's knees involuntarily weak.

"_ Hullo _, Aziraphale," Crowley lilted dangerously. 

Azirath gasped and tried to form some coherent reply. "H-h-Cr-cro-you-you-you're all right!" He gaped.

Crowley frowned and shrugged. "To be determined, I'm afraid. Been a bit of a..." he scrunched up his face in thought, "_ trial _ ." He watched Aziraphale squirm in his grasp, which made him grin. "Now that I'm out and about though," he pouted a bit, "I hope this doesn't mean you'll stop giving me those lovely _ bathsssss." _His grin only grew wider as Aziraphale face visibly fell and paled. "You have an exquisite touch, though you've been managing to skip over some areas I keep looking forward to being tended to."

Azirath's eyelids fluttered with disbelief. 

"Cluck, _ cluck _." Crowley winked and bared his teeth.

The realization fell on Azirath like a lead balloon. "You bastard," he whispered in shock. His blood began to rise again in humiliation and then thorough rage. "You _ bastard _ !" He started shoving and punching at Crowley's chest. "You _ fucking _ bastard! You _ utter _ shit! I can't fucking _ believe _ you! Fiend! Oh, I could kill you! Fucking vile _ fiend _...!"

Crowley let him rant like that for a bit. Feeling the nerves in his body again after so long being without them was shocking. Every hit felt overwhelming though he could tell there was no real bite to them. He pressed himself closer to Aziraphale and wrestled his hands away from his person, pinning them to either side of Aziraphale's head. 

"That's enough of _ that _," Crowley groused in his face, noses just barely touching.

Azirath inhaled sharply and grew pliant immediately. He was panting and feeling a vast array of erratic emotions that he could not get a handle on even if his life depended on it. And it really felt like it did. Crowley was alive, he was talking, moving, sane, and his body was wholly flushed against him, and -- _ oh no. Oh no. He's heard everything! Has seen and heard everything! _The emotional whiplash was dizzying. Thoughts flitted by too quickly to take hold, each sensation fighting for dominance, and his mind could hardly stay sane and in the moment.

Crowley shoved himself against Aziraphale forcefully once more, his right leg pressed firmly into Aziraphale's thigh. Hip to hip. 

"You've been busy, old friend," he jeered. "The things I've seen with my own eyes. The things I've heard with mine own _ earsss _."

Azirath felt his stomach drop, but at the same time, something else entirely began to rise. _ No. What is wrong with me? I’m demented. Sick. " _Cr-Crowley, I-I can, I can ex--"

_ SLAM. _

"Yeah, I think ya should," he grated menacingly, "what happened to you?!"

For the first time in a long time, Azirath whimpered, he was filled with so much regret. He looked at Crowley pleadingly, sorrow etched in his eyes and his voice. "Stuff... happened." He let out the rest with one long sob. "_ I-lost-my-best-friend! _" He dropped his head forward, grazing Crowley's chin, who only jerked his head back at the contact.

Those words were not lost on Crowley. Those were his words. His grief. He knew what that felt like. This weeping mess he had fastened against the wall was still his angel. Every snivel, every quiver of his lip, the sadness in his eyes, these things were all familiar. He'd seen him like this before, though maybe not as forlorn. This was _ Aziraphale _. 

Crowley was conflicted. He wanted to comfort his angel, but he still needed answers. His voice was softer when he addressed Aziraphale again, though it held misplaced anger. 

"What’s this business with the slaves - the gingers, eh?" The answer to this was what he dreaded most. "How much of that was horseshit?" He jerked into him again.

"Oh, Someone, help me," Azirath whined, sniffed, and hiccupped. His body did not fail to respond to the constant bumping, grazing, and pushing. He was a disgrace. If only Crowley would yell at him without grinding into him like this!

Crowley shook him again, pushing further into him because Aziraphale was slipping downward from his unsteady legs. "Answer me, angel," he begged.

"You-you'll ha-hate m-m-me..." He hated himself. Especially now, because it seemed that he finally understood just how low he'd stooped. He could feel his cock weeping almost as much as his eyes were. The shame was like a favoured blanket that draped around him, all-consuming, heavy and warm.

"You pick humans off the streets? People who... who remind you of... of _ me _?" Crowley's voice was beginning to break. Aziraphale nodded quickly, unable to look him in the eye. "You... you sleep with them." It was not a question.

"Sometimes," he confessed with another sob. Azirath felt demented. He was so close, just a few more rubs away from coming undone in Crowley's arms completely. And wouldn't that be something? Confessing his sins while he came in his pants? It was obvious now more than ever. He needed to be committed.

"And then you..." Crowley couldn't say the rest above a whisper, "you _ murder _ them?"

Azirath's wide-eyed gaze shot up. A frayed string of hope was dangled before him. At least there was something, one thing, that was still redeemable. "No," he said firmly through his red-tinted tears.

"Don't fucking lie to me!" Crowley rasped, his own tears flowing down his cheeks. They were sandwiched together so tightly that there was nothing left to jostle, but he tried anyway, eliciting a strangled groan from his trapped friend. "I'll understand. I can make myself understand and accept it, but don't lie to me!"

Azirath studied Crowley's face. He wasn't angry like he initially thought, no, his expression was closer to desperation. 

"You... would accept.. it?" Azirath questioned.

"You promised you wouldn't abandon me. I promise you the same. Whatever you've done - it won't drive me away." He felt like he was grasping at straws, but he knew his words were true. "But I need to know. So I can help you."

Crowley had meant every word. He was willing to accept him, Azirath the murderous demon, as he was. Azirath let out a breathy, relieved chuckle. There was still a chance. There was still hope for him after all.

Crowley gawked. "What is so bloody funny?"

"Nothing," he sniggered some more, "just... I wouldn't lie to you."

"You _ would _," Crowley retorted. Aziraphale had lied to him oodles of times over the years. Lies galore!

"Not about this," Azirath breathed, eyes dreamy, beholding the love of his life who was willing to accept him no matter what. Who might reciprocate his feelings if any of Satan's words had been remotely true. He suddenly felt unbearably hot. "I can show you." 

Crowley saw the change in his face and recognized his friend once more. He was beaming, the way he always beamed when Crowley popped in on him unannounced. Or when he did something nice for Aziraphale. Or saved Aziraphale from guillotines and Nazis. 

It was then that Crowley noticed his hip felt somewhat bruised. He glanced down with only his eyes then back up at his friend whose smile had faded completely and suddenly appeared rather depraved.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. "Is that your snake pressing up against my hip?" He murmured, almost growled. He watched the muscles on Aziraphale's throat bob as he swallowed audibly.

Azirath sniffed and exhaled with a tilt of his head and a wince. "Well, that's one word for it," he muttered guiltily.

Crowley closed his eyes and pursed his lips. _Oh, my stars and garters. Of all the times! _A kink, Satan had said. Crowley was his kink. _If he'd only given himself that kink _before_ the fucking end of the world._ He fought for control over the raging emotions. "Don't change the subject," he ground out through his teeth, eyes still closed in concentration.

"You asked," Azirath blamed under his breath.

"Just," he growled with frustration, "show me what you're gonna show me!"

"All right," he conceded gently.

Crowley opened his eyes and found Aziraphale blushing, but otherwise still and sober. "All right," he repeated but didn't move, still taking in the feeling of his body pressed so close. Feeling the prodding in his hip. What he would have given for this moment to be in a radically different situation.

Azirath cleared his throat. "You'll need to move."

"Right." He released his friend and backed away, missing the heat of his body instantly. 

Without adjusting his rumpled clothes, Azirath dragged his feet toward his bedroom. He could hear Crowley sauntering behind him. When he reached his door, he manifested a set of keys and unlocked it. It was pitch black inside. With the help of a little Hellfire, he lit all of his candles at the same time, and the room lit up.

Azirath held the door open and motioned for Crowley to enter, never meeting his eye. 

Crowley glanced around the room. He could tell it was hardly used from the layers of dust that had accumulated, but otherwise, it was very much Aziraphale's style, like someone's old aunt named Petunia, lived in it. It was orderly and colour-coordinated. He expected a cream coloured pallet but was also not surprised to see dark hues of red, brown and gold. He watched his friend make sure the curtains were tightly drawn. Then he finally faced him and took a steadying breath.

"Right, well," he licked his chapped lips, "I usually set Scarlet on them in the living area--"

"Fucking hell."

Azirath flinched but ignored him. "She gives them a good scare. I leave the windows open so the guards and any passerby can hear. Either they faint or I miracle them to sleep. And then..." he moved to the foot of his bed and motioned at it. He stooped low and signed a familiar sigil onto the front board of the bed frame.

Aziraphale stepped back, and Crowley could hear some mechanics begin to grind underneath until the bed lifted off the ground, exposing a stone staircase leading downward. Crowley splayed his arms open at it with a mixture of confusion and awe. 

"Is this Dracula's house or something?" He asked, bemused. 

Azirath smirked slightly at the jibe, opened the drawer to his nightstand, and pulled out an electric torch. 

"What? No old-fashioned torches doused in oil in your sex dungeon?"

Azirath rolled his eyes. "It's not a sex dungeon, Crowley.” He flinched again because it wasn’t like it was far off on some occasions. “The torch is for the humans. I can't have them accidentally lighting my house on fire in their panic." He turned on the flashlight and began to descend.

"Right, of course not, makes perfect sense. All of this makes perfect sense," he muttered sarcastically. He followed his friend into the dark. 

Crowley only felt a small sense of dread as he descended into the tight space. Eventually, the narrow stairs stopped in a large area that looked like a crypt. "This is where you _ dispose _of them." He'd used the word Aziraphale had in Satan's presence.

"Precisely," he stated matter-of-factly and tiredly. 

Then he pointed the light to an open archway that led into darkness. It must have been miles long because Crowley could not see its end. 

Azirath nodded to the dark passage. "Beelzebub and I have a deal. Or _ had _ one. I do their bidding, and they have the slaves taken to the Sanctuary. It's a safe place the angels made for humans." He rocked on his shoes then pointed to a bench. "I leave them there asleep with provisions for the journey. They wake up only when they are roused by their guide. An angel."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, utterly bewildered. "You save them."

Azirath felt his lip quiver and his body wobble in ways that seemed alien to him now. "It's my atonement. My way of saving _ you-- _ " a sob broke through him, "because it was _ my _ fault!" He covered his face with his free hand, weeping freely and loudly. "It was my fault. I thought they _ destroyed _ you! I couldn’t sense you. And it was all my fault!" He felt arms wrap around him, which only made him cry harder. 

Crowley pulled his angel close and waited for his trembling body to ease before pulling back enough to tilt Aziraphale's head up. He thumbed some of his tears away, then kissed his temple. Aziraphale gasped and let out the softest of moans that stirred up flames in Crowley's loins. 

"It wasn't your fault, angel." Crowley tilted his head to do what he hadn't the courage to do before all this mess had occurred, but Aziraphale leaned away enough to stop him.

"I'm not... I'm not an angel anymore, Crowley. I'm not the same."

“Well, aren’t we all just Fallen angels?” He smiled sadly. “I never meant it literally anyway,” he murmured as he tucked silver strands behind his angel’s ear. Crowley hoped he’d smile, but he looked so sad, so remorseful, haunted, and yet so in need of acceptance. It shattered Crowley's heart. "You really believe that five-odd centuries is going to erase six _ thousand _ plus years of _ everything _ we've been through together? Hm?"

Azirath felt a bloom of hope. "Well, when you put it that way," he whispered. His mouth twitched into a small smile, and his eyes landed on Crowley's lips. Lips he'd stared at countless times, dreamt about even more times than that, but never felt. 

Until now. 

He leaned forward and didn't have to wait long before Crowley closed the distance and kissed him, thoroughly, passionately, and lovingly. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw! Look at that! I didn't end on a cliffhanger and ended it with a sweet little smooch!
> 
> Don't know if this is good news or what, but it appears the story will not end at chapter 15. It will probably end at 17 chapters. 
> 
> I thought I might self promote a little here. I don't have a ko-fi account or anything like that. Someone suggested I should, but I don't know how to feel about it. 
> 
> Instead, I'd like to let you all know that I am primarily a voiceover actor and always looking for new opportunities! My partner and I are a team, and we make videos for small businesses, startups, YouTubers, crowdfunding campaigns, etc...!
> 
> So, it'd be awesome if you could support me by spreading the word! We're Top Rated sellers with thousands of gigs and 5-star reviews under our belt, and we can be hired with a click of a button on Fiverr! [CLICK HERE!](https://www.fiverr.com/easymedia)
> 
> As always, you can chat me up on [Insta](http://instagram.com/mordellestories) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mordellestories)!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo!
> 
> It's going to be a busy week. My birthday is tomorrow, my writing class is on Wednesday and Halloween is on Thursday! My kid is gonna be dressed as Coraline! I'm tired already thinking about Trick or Treating... toddlers are crazy.
> 
> Peeps, I can't stress enough how excited you all make me feel when you comment. I'm over the moon every time I see the notifications and the lovely words of encouragement and all the theories and thoughts!
> 
> Okay, this chapter has some spicy stuff. I'm not sure whether to change the rating to Explicit or not. This chapter has a LIME! It's detailed but not SUPER detailed. And it's not kinky. However, the art I have for this chapter most definitely has a penis. I did not draw the penis. It was transplanted from another artist, [Saint-of-Trash](https://saint-of-trash.tumblr.com/). LMAO. I tried but I failed so they did me the favor of fixing my bent-ass-looking peen. Their art is amazing, please check them out!
> 
> Okay, so, knowing this info, please let me know if this is too much for a Mature rating and if I should make the rating Explicit. So far, two people have said to keep as Mature.
> 
> ***WARNING: Lime/Smut ahead. Hand stuff only. I use the word cock a lot. The art in this chapter is NSFW.***

They had kissed for what seemed like hours, groping and grasping at each other like their very lives depended on it. Aziraphale kept intermittently cupping Crowley's face with both hands to assure himself that it was indeed the love of his life before him and not some cheap substitute, or some strange vision spurred by a psychotic break. And every time he was pleasantly surprised to realise that Crowley was very real and very alive, he'd smile, laugh through his tears of joy, and pepper him with passionate kisses. 

Although Crowley had gotten an eyeful of his angel, heard his voice, and had even felt his intimate touch for weeks, he had a hard time believing this was happening as well. After all, he and Aziraphale had toed the line of their relationship for so long, and he wondered if things would ever progress at all. He safely assumed that his supposed destruction had something to do with his angel's seemingly extreme, sudden change of pace.

On some level, Crowley knew he couldn't trust his sense of reality just yet, but he didn't care. Aziraphale felt solid, tasted genuine, and the fact that he looked different than he remembered helped in grounding him to the physical world around him. He missed his soft, angelic form, but was grateful to be able to distinguish between the angel he'd been imagining with the demon who was real. Who desired him. Needed him.

Their need for each other was great, indeed, and they had tumbled and tripped around the dark, cold room that seemed to be getting warmer by the second. So, in the figurative and literal sense, things got heated.

"I don't think we're gonna make it up these stairs," Crowley husked into the crook of Aziraphale's neck where he had already left bright red marks. The sounds his angel made when he'd placed them there nearly drove him insane.

"I don't care," Aziraphale, replied just as breathy.

Aziraphale had already shed his waistcoat. His shirt was untucked where Crowley's hands were currently exploring and sending fireworks behind his eyelids. He had Crowley pinned to the bottom steps of the staircase, straddling him while he began to claw at his belt. 

Crowley clamped onto the other side of Aziraphale's neck with his teeth and bit hard making him buck and groan on top of him. At the same time, his thumbs had found his hardened nipples, rubbing them lightly in circles, ripping out more surprised, high-pitched cries from his angel. Then it was his turn to groan when Aziraphale had finally torn open his trousers and grasped at his clothed cock, hardened in his pants.

Those moans, in Crowley's real-life voice - yes, he was real! He was only ever able to guess what those moans would sound like. Crowley had always made unintelligible little grunts and mumbles that Azirphale would log into his memory. He'd save them for a time when his need became too much to bear, and he'd have to lock himself away to pleasure himself secretly and shamefully over the years. Even back when he had the bookshop, and he'd owned that shop for a _ long _ time. 

Aziraphale, yes, he felt like _ Aziraphale _ , his old self, _ happy _ . That's what Crowley did to him, made him feel _ whole _ . He was Aziraphale, _ Crowley's _ Aziraphale, and he wanted Crowley to know that. Wanted him to know that the world only meant something to him when Crowley was _ in _ it, with him, by his side. It had always been that way. Since the beginning of time, Aziraphale had enjoyed life on Earth more whenever Crowley was around to live it with. He needed to tell him, needed to _ show _ him. 

Straightening up enough to see Crowley's face, Aziraphale dipped his hand into his demon's pants and pulled his beautiful cock free. He was stunned by the reality of the moment before finally tracing it with his thumb. He watched Crowley throw his head back in ecstasy, and he felt that glorious moan reverberate through his entire being. Aziraphale lamented the fact that he could probably come like this, watching and hearing his best friend come undone. The tightness of his trousers, the scent of their arousal, the cries pouring out of him at just touching and looking at the beautiful creature beneath him was all proof he'd ached for far too long. 

Crowley was enjoying this, he really was, but it very much sounded like Aziraphale was enjoying it _much_ more. He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale staring at him like he was a meal or a god, he wasn't sure, but he knew that he was ravenous, that Aziraphale was getting off at getting _him_ off! And _looked and_ _sounded_ like he was close too. He couldn't allow that. No, sir.

Abruptly and forcefully, Crowley dug his fingers into the meat of Aziraphale's still clothed arse and hoisted them off the steps. He'd gotten an idea now what made his angel hot and bothered. He slammed him against a wall and snatched his hand away from his cock, tucking himself back in his pants.

"What... _ why _..." Aziraphale bewailed.

"Because I've been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the bloody _ world _ and I'll be _ blessed _ if I'm gonna let you cream your pants' fore I get my hands on ya!" He snarled.

"Oh." Aziraphale was wound up so tight he didn't know whether to burst into tears again for being denied his release or praise the stars, because yes, he wanted his touch. He _ needed _ it. It wasn't going to last long, but oh well.

Crowley made quick work of undoing Aziraphale's trousers while using his knee to spread his legs apart. He was going to make him beg, he was going to make him cry, he was going to -- _ not do bloody much because...! _

He hissed loudly at finding his angel's boxer-briefs soaked with need. "_Fffffuuuuck,_ _Aziraphale!"_

Aziraphale was losing his mind. _ " _ Would you _ pleasssse _ \-- _ ah--!" _

Crowley had taken a fistful of Aziraphale's cock and went to work. With his free hand, he dug his fingers in Azirphale's hair at the nape of his neck and tugged hard until his face was looking at the ceiling, exposing his bruised neck once more for Crowley to mark anew. 

Aziraphale was choking on his sobs and moans and desperately trying to prolong that blissful state before the crash. This was precisely what Aziraphale needed, Crowley, pulling him apart in all directions. It hurt exquisitely. The demon stood erect and claimed his open mouth mid-cry, crushing and hovering tensely over his lips as he moaned and swallowed Aziraphale's frantic whimpering. 

"Look at you," Crowley drawled with a growl on his lips, "the big, bad _ Azirath, _ debauched and brought to _ ruin _ by my hand--"

Aziraphale had never come so hard in his life. His hips thrust of their own accord, fucking Crowley's fist until the very last drop. He keened from the overwhelming pleasure, clinging onto his demon as tightly as possible because he could not cling to sanity. 

They were breathless, gasping and panting, trying to keep themselves standing. Crowley was fit to burst, but he held onto the weak Aziraphale whose legs had apparently turned into linguini. 

"Do my little doppelgängers get you this riled up?" He grinned and hoped for a resounding _ no _.

Aziraphale's eyes shot open, completely aghast. That reminder at a time like this! Well, he couldn’t let him dwell on it, not for a moment. "Don't even question it! I've never felt this way in my entire existence. You're exquisite, incomparable, and your touch drives me mad with desire. Even now, limp and impotent, I want you. All of you. On me. Inside me--"

"Okay, okay, I get it! Good lord! Keep talking like that and you'll discorporate me." Crowley chuckled and kissed him softly. He was not used to that kind of praise.

"But it's _ true _ ," he replied weakly and desperately. "I _ need _ you to know that. To _ believe _ me."

"Oh, I _ do _ ," he drawled. "I'm a fucking _ beast _ in the sack, and I'll make you forget you fucked anyone else. _ Ever _ . You think you're ruined _ now _ ?" He leaned into Aziraphale's ear that had turned bright red. "I'm going to _ demolish _ you." He almost laughed aloud when Aziraphale let out the most adorable little mewl.

"Well, this is regrettably more awkward than I ever imagined it would be..." came a familiar sober voice from behind them.

The demons jolted and looked over Crowley's shoulder to see an Archangel basked in the flashlight's glow and grimacing from the archway.

"... and I imagined it pretty awkward."

"_ YOU, _" Aziraphale grated menacingly. He cleaned and put them to rights with a thought before stepping in front of Crowley protectively and producing his trusty, fiery weapon. The flames lit the rest of the dark crypt.

Gabriel lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm not here to fight."

"I thought I made myself _ clear, _" Aziraphale hissed. 

The Archangel nodded. "I apologise for interrupting the, erm, intimate moment there."

Crowley scoffed. "You've literally been interrupting us since the blasted rebellion, Gabriel."

Gabriel sighed but smirked at the former angel he once knew well. "I'm glad you're not a vegetable, after all, Jophiel."

Crowley's jaw dropped, then he whipped his head from Aziraphale to Gabriel. "You got your memories back?! Aziraphale?"

"We can discuss that later," Aziraphale replied gravely then directed his next words to his enemy. "I vowed to destroy you if I ever laid eyes on you again. I even gave you fair warning; _do not_ _seek_ me _out_."

Crowley could feel the malice coming off his companion in waves. He stood ready to interfere at a moments notice and watched carefully. There was no way he'd let him fight one of Heaven's most capable soldiers, as much as it seemed that Aziraphale could hold his own.

"I know what I'm risking," Gabriel replied seriously, hands still up in submission, "Azirath the Cruel, Destroyer of Archangels." 

Crowley frowned. "What's he saying?" 

"Nothing!" Aziraphale defended, then winced at his own lie. "I'll tell you later." He glared at Gabriel and shook his head in warning. "You always thought I was so stupid, so beneath you. I was only too trusting, but not to worry. I've learned. You think I don't know why you're here? I'm a liability now, and I fully accept that, but mark my words, I will take you with me into non-existence before I let you harm a _ hair _ on his head!" 

"I'd believe him if I were you, Flower," droned Beelzebub who suddenly emerged from the shadowed hall. 

"Wow. Am I dreaming this?" Crowley breathed, suddenly fearful he'd imagined all this the whole time. Then he shuddered at what he'd just heard. "Did you just call him _ Flower _?"

"Should've known you were faking it," Beelzebub managed a smirk. 

"Bug," Gabriel patronised, "I told you I had this under control."

"Nah," Crowley shook his head and pointed at the foes before him, "even for me, this is way too weird to be my imagination."

Beelzebub ignored him and turned to Gabriel. “You haven't seen Azirath at his worst, Gabriel. He'll shred your pristine, pretty face, and then what other notable qualities will you have?"

Crowley sniggered. "Quite the reputation you've made for yourself, angel."

Aziraphale scowled. He never wanted Crowley to know the depths he'd sunk to. "I've already tried to warn you," he mumbled, with a hint of shame, to his mate. He felt Crowley's hand on his equipped arm, gently asking him to lower his weapon. He would not. "You don't know what they've done," he bit out. "They let me believe you'd been destroyed so that they could wield me as their weapon. They would have let me destroy myself while they let you rot in Hell!"

Well, that did not sit prettily with Crowley at all. He eyed Beelzebub who seemed to sober from his look. "That's not why I told you to keep quiet, Beelzebub."

"And that's _ another _ thing we will thoroughly discuss later, you _ bastard _," Aziraphale snapped over his shoulder.

Crowley squirmed. "Ngh - well let's just hear them out over a drink or something. This is too much to handle completely sober."

Aziraphale started. "Have you heard _ anything _ I've said?"

"Look," Gabriel intervened, "I'll get to the point. We need all the help we can get to defeat Satan. Two spies on the council are better than one, and I hear Crowley was able to get close too. If he can keep up the whole broken act, we really have a chance at this! The three of you can help us turn things around!"

"Four."

Aziraphale was the only one who didn't turn his attention to yet another intruder in his home. "Adam." He closed his eyes and gripped his sword tighter, summoning whatever patience was still available to him, which was none. "You're early," he said flatly.

Gabriel and Beelzebub looked like they'd soiled themselves.

Crowley couldn't help it. He splayed his arms wide, spinning in a circle, and laughed hysterically. "Demon Princes, an Archangel, _ and _ the Antichrist!? Now it's a party!"

Adam descended the rest of the way and approached carefully. "I left the guards outside the gate. No one knows anything. I want to help."

Everyone was silent and unmoving, save for Crowley who just continued to sway in place looking from immortal to immortal. "Well," he ventured, "I'd say that's a game-changer for sure."

Aziraphale extinguished his sword at the same time Gabriel lit the space with white light. The demon prince finally turned to face the boy who was looking right at him, a look of desperate hope on his face. 

Crowley had seen that cold, emotionless stare before. The same look his angel sported when he slit Hastur's throat. _ Shit. _

"I will not endanger _ Crowley's _ life no matter what the odds," Aziraphale uttered cooly with a dangerous twitch of his lips.

Adam stayed silent.

"I think _ Crowley _ has a say in this as much as you do, Azirath," Gabriel countered.

"_ We _ ," Aziraphale pronounced, "have no interest in helping any of you. In fact," he turned to face the archangel, "I think _ you _ owe _ us _. For many a misdeed on your part, Gabriel. Want to atone? Give us refuge in the Sanctuary. Put us to work there if you wish."

Gabriel shook his head and pursed his lips. "I can't do that."

"You mean, you _ won't _!" Aziraphale advanced on him.

Beelzebub intercepted. "The Sanctuary is on consecrated ground, Azirath. And _ Crowley _ has yet to weigh in on the decision you keep making for you both." They took a step forward and muttered quietly. "And we all know why. Because you'll do anything _ Crowley _ says. And if _ Crowley _ wants to save the world, then you'll have to tag along now, won't you?"

Aziraphale could feel his control slipping. He turned to his companion and eyed him expectantly.

Crowley glanced around the room once more and shrugged apologetically at his friend. "Well, _ Crowley _ thinks there's a good chance this _ might _ work."

Aziraphale cast his eyes to the ground for a long moment before resettling them on Adam. His voice was cold and sober, even though Crowley had just shattered his heart to pieces. "There isn't a day that's gone by that I don't regret letting Madame Tracy stop me from putting a brick through your skull, Adam Young." 

The tension in the room was palpable. Adam was quiet for a moment. "Yeah," he replied sadly, "me too."

"Angel," Crowley tried to reach for him, but Aziraphale pushed past him with his hand in the air to stop him.

"I'll be upstairs," Aziraphale muttered. "Plot as much as your heart desires. Fill me in later." He ascended the steps and disappeared.

Gabriel had his eyes on the Antichrist the whole time. "How can we trust you of all people?"

Adam shrugged. "As soon as I saw _ him _," he looked to Crowley, "I just knew deep down that there was a chance to fix what I've done." He looked to Beelzebub. "You were there when I said I wanted to make the world a better place. I meant it."

Beelzebub nodded in assent. "I believe the boy."

Crowley was barely paying attention. Aziraphale had not left his side since the day they had been reunited, and now, he’d just up and left him. He wanted to end the impromptu meeting and get back to his angel. 

"Can we count on you, Jophiel?"

Crowley flinched at the use of his First name coming from Gabriel. "Uh, yeah, I dunno." He turned to face the other three. "Aziraphale and I make decisions together. He's the only one I've ever trusted, and rightfully so," he gave Beelzebub a sharp look. "I've been in the dark for a while, and I'm not going into this blind."

Gabriel frowned and nodded. "I understand. All I ask is that you think about it. Talk with... Aziraphale. I, uh," he looked around the room, "for what it's worth, I'm... I'm sorry. I've made," he sighed heavily, "I've made a lot of mistakes. Honestly, I feel like none of this would have happened if, if I hadn't pushed to cast you and," he looked to Beelzebub, "the others out in the first place. I should've paid better attention to your classes on compassion and forgiveness." He approached Crowley and stuck out his hand. "I want to make things right... teacher."

Crowley could not believe his eyes and ears. He felt awkward when he shook Gabriel's hand. "Ngk." This was weird. He wasn’t sure he liked any of it. No, he didn’t. He was incredibly uncomfortable.

"I'll be in touch," Gabriel said as he looked around the room and eyed Adam pointedly before he turned and motioned for Beelzebub to exit first. They left, leaving Adam and Crowley with only the torch’s glow in the dark.

Adam gave Crowley a gentle smile. "I was really happy to see you earlier today. I thought you were gone for good." His smile faded. "Aziraphale hasn't been the same since..." he swallowed hard. He smiled hopefully again. "I'd hoped that since you found each other again that you were up to your old schemes. You guys were the only ones who tried to save the world back then, after all."

"And look at how well that worked out for us, eh?" Crowley swayed and smirked mirthlessly.

Adam cast his eyes to the ground in shame. "Yeah. I won't blame you guys if you run away. But," he looked him in the eyes, "I hope you don't. Seeing you both together gave me hope. I think we can win this. Together."

Crowley nodded gravely. "Maybe." Obviously, Aziraphale was not of the same opinion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Too explicit? Or still within the lines of a Mature rating? 
> 
> Since this is a busy week, this may be my only post this week, but who knows? 
> 
> Happy Samhain! My favorite time of year! I hope you all stay safe and have fun!
> 
> **Remember to bring in your black kitties indoors for Halloween!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well-p I tried but I think I failed at keeping this in the M rating. So, the rating is now E.
> 
> Thank you, my wonderful beta's: Azeran & Tim !!
> 
> ***WARNING: Smut ahead. This chapter is a LEMON. Although I don't use any vulgar or overly explicit words (other than cock), the sex is not glossed over, okay? It's detailed. But romantic... in my opinion. lol***

Crowley and Adam emerged into the empty bedroom. The house was eerily quiet, almost as if no one else was home, but Crowley could sense Aziraphale's presence. Another indicator that what he was experiencing was true and that this Azirapahle was, indeed, the real one. He was no longer in Hell, where he could only rely on hope that Aziraphale was still alive, still out there. Here. He was here now. Aziraphale’s aura pulsed in his own, like a beacon guiding Crowley to safe harbour. How he had missed his angel’s presence in the world, so terribly.

The house was large, a manor really, and it made Crowley scowl with distaste. A cold, empty, dark house. This was no place for his angel. He wondered how long he'd been living there, so alone. A small part of him, the resentful snake that always dwelled within him, wondered why Aziraphale had accepted his demise so readily. His angel had cut him off like a limb and decided to live like that, incomplete, and let himself nosedive into a dark, cold world. Alone. It brought back distasteful memories of _ before _, when Crowley would opt to leave Aziraphale alone for decades at a time, because he thought the angel preferred it that way. Preferred to be alone than in his company. 

But that wasn’t true, was it? He had imagined that or his insecurities had whispered lies because Aziraphale had always been so happy to see him. That beaming, relieved smile. Even if only a few days had gone by, it was always the same smile. A smile that gave him hope.Or had that been fabricated in his mind as well? He could not trust his own memories, not yet. But Crowley had been rewarded finally, had he not? Aziraphale had let Crowley kiss him, _ touch _ him, allowed him to tear down that insufferable wall the angel had built to keep them apart. In fact, there had been no wall, not this time. Well, there was obviously a wall, a new one, but there was a special entrance with Crowley’s name on it now, where he could enter whenever he wished - _ explore _ within its confines freely.

Crowley hoped he could keep the privilege, even though Aziraphale had been so displeased with him not moments earlier.

Almost six centuries, he mused, the longest stint without seeing each other, and Aziraphale thought he'd never see him again. The accusation that Gabriel and Beelzebub used to spur him into becoming an assassin made Crowley's stomach sour, and his heart ache. Who knew what would have befallen his angel had he not been released from his sentence early. He dared not think about it.

Crowley could tell Adam was tense as they wandered through the halls, though the boy did little to show it. The demon had no idea where he was going, only that Aziraphale would be there. And then he found him in a massive kitchen, staring at a wall, and drinking wine right out of the bottle.

Crowley leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. Adam had the good sense to stand a bit behind him. He watched Aziraphale's profile scan the wall. From Crowley's perspective, he seemed lost like he was searching for answers to some cosmic question there.

"What are you doing there, angel?" Crowley finally asked.

Aziraphale did not look their way. Instead, he took a swig from the bottle he was holding and shrugged. "Getting _ pissed _ as you used to say. That was a short meeting for such a grand scheme."

"Crowley says he won't make any decisions without you," Adam offered.

"How considerate," Aziraphale replied dryly, still scanning the wall before him.

Crowley looked down at Adam and made a zipper motion at his mouth. 

"Sorry," Adam whispered in response.

"Well, my _ lord _ ," Aziraphale muttered with disdain, "I've left some material on your bed to serve as your first lessons. All books your father would undoubtedly approve of. Mein Kampf, La Dottrina del Fascismo, Il Principe. All translated copies, of course, since I know you've had no education past primary school at _ best, _ and that you've been asleep more than half the time post-war, most assuredly not continuing your education whilst awake, chucking all responsibility for your actions onto others in the meanwhile." He paused only to take a breath. "Your room is the first one on the right, down the hall with the open door."

It was a clear dismissal, and Adam suppressed a sigh as he turned to leave. When Crowley heard the door shut, he grimaced and attempted to reason with his friend.

He tried to joke first. "Well, you're going to fashion yourself a little dictator, eh?" His chuckle died off when Aziraphale didn't react.

"He's already a dictator — just a lazy one." Aziraphale took a long chug from the bottle.

Crowley sighed and took slow, swaying steps into the kitchen. "Don't you think you're a bit hard on him? He's just a kid."

"He's over five-hundred years old, anything _ but _ a _ kid." _

_ "Mmm _, well, yeah, but in the grand scheme of things, he's still a child. As far as immortals go anyway." 

Crowley stopped next to his friend and did a double-take when he caught sight of what Aziraphale had been staring at that whole time. It was an entire wall cabinet made of glass that stored at least twenty cakes of all shapes, sizes, and colours that had been miracled to stay preserved.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley asked concernedly. "Are you planning on opening a post-armageddon bakery, or...? I mean, I'm sure we can come up with some clever names for the business. Let's see..." he scratched his chin, looking very pensive as Aziraphale rolled his eyes and failed to suppress a smirk in anticipation for the tomfoolery. "Demonic Delights, Cakepocalypse, For Heaven's Cake, Delicious Devils, Sweet as Sin? Hm? I like that last one."

"They’re for guests," Aziraphale explained, a little guilt shining through his blank expression. "I never partake. Haven't had a slice of cake since before the war." He took in a long breath. "But, you're back from the dead. I figured, maybe it's cause for some celebration. Cake seems fitting. Like a birthday of sorts maybe." He turned to Crowley, eyes sad and brow furrowed. "Which one do you want?"

Crowley took the half-empty bottle from his friend and took a sip, immediately kicking his barely used taste buds into gear. He swallowed hard and hissed, then walked behind Aziraphale and snaked an arm around his waist, setting his chin on his friend's shoulder.

"How about we try them all?" He suggested with a hint of seduction. 

Aziraphale scoffed and leaned his temple onto Crowley's. "Wily old serpent," he murmured wistfully, "still trying to tempt me after all these years?"

Crowley smiled wickedly. "Alwaysss."

"Well," Aziraphale breathed, "temptation accomplished." He managed a smirk and kissed Crowley's head before peeling himself away from the demon and rummaging through the cabinets.

Crowley set the wine on the island in the centre of the kitchen and sat on a stool. He propped his chin on his hand as he observed Aziraphale's stiff and meticulous movements around the kitchen. His mannerisms had changed. No skip to his step, no endearing wiggles, no hesitation. Aziraphale stance had always been straight and poised but there had always been a lightness to it, a certain modesty - if it could be described that way. He still had perfect posture but now it commanded respect and acknowledgement. 

"So," Aziraphale called over his shoulder as he grabbed some of his best china, "what's the plan?" He managed to keep his tone level, not betraying the ache in his heart that was still there.

"No plan yet," Crowley replied, narrowing his eyes as he sensed Aziraphale's displeasure. "Told dear ol' Gabe that I'd talk to you first."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. He apologised, you know?" 

Aziraphale froze for a moment, back still turned to Crowley. "What for?"

"Casting me out, I think. Redacting my name - the Fallen names. Wiping us out of our friends’ _ memoriesss _." Crowley waited patiently for Aziraphale to respond. 

"Ah." It was all Aziraphale offered while he retrieved a couple of forks. "A little late for that, I suppose." He busied himself with napkins next. "Know which cake would you like to try first?"

Crowley noticed that his friend was even tenser than before. The subject was obviously a sensitive one. He wondered if Aziraphale felt betrayed by him for not divulging they had been friends before the rebellion. 

Aziraphale finally turned to face Crowley, his brow raised expectantly, waiting for an answer. But Crowley was looking at him oddly like he was waiting for him to give him bad news. "Maybe we should start with something mild and work our way up to the darker, richer flavours."

Crowley shifted in his seat and kept his eyes on Aziraphale as he pulled out a modestly decorated, white and pink cake and placed it on the counter. "Angel, if you don't want to talk about it, just say so."

Aziraphale sighed as he cut a thin slice of the dessert and placed it on the plate. "I guess I just don't know what to say. I wish I'd known."

"I always figured it'd just be a bad way to start over." Crowley grinned and waved at his angel enthusiastically. "Oh, hi, Aziraphale! We used to be friends, but then I joined Lucifer's gang, and now I'm a demon. Want to be friends again?!" 

Aziraphale tilted his head and gave him a look that said Crowley was probably right. Maybe he would not have reacted well. Perhaps they would have never become friends again.

"What was it like," Crowley asked, truly curious, "getting all your memories back? Did it happen when you Fell?"

The demon prince shook his head. "No, it happened before that, but after I'd been told that you were... that you were... gone." His eyes glossed over as he retrieved the memory. "I was still in the holding cells, waiting for my trial. All of a sudden, my head felt like it was going to explode, and I remembered." He scoffed and smiled. "I remembered everything, your name, your true form, our talks, my lessons, my stupid questions."

"You never had stupid questions. I don't _ believe _ in _ stupid _ questions," Crowley admonished.

“Aardvark.” Aziraphale offered up and knew that Crowley would remember the encounter right before he tempted the demon to try oysters.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Alright, there is at least one stupid question in existence.” He smiled and swayed.

Though he smiled back, after a few moments Aziraphale closed his eyes that had begun to water. When he opened them again, they were hard and full of anger. "I remembered seeing you on the battlefield. I felt so betrayed."

Crowley could feel his heart constricting at recalling that horrible day. Seeing Aziraphale's pained expression, his desperate need to understand why he'd betrayed Heaven. He was about to apologise, about to explain, but Aziraphale took his hand and entwined their fingers. 

Aziraphale's eyes were wide and fearful. "I remembered the way you reached out to me. Screaming for help as the rebels retreated. I tried to take your hand, but you were carried away by the crowd, and then-then everything trembled, and you were... gone." He finally looked Crowley in the eye and squeezed his hand tightly. "I was too late," he whispered. "Just like I was too late the second time around too."

"What?" Crowley turned to face his distressed friend and took his other hand. "The second time? Aziraphale, we were both attacked. Mid-flight. I was discorporated instantly, there was nothing you could have done."

Aziraphale ripped his hands out of Crowley's grasp and shook his head violently as pink tears spilt freely. "I _ hesitated _ . Always have. Our _ entire _ history has been an endless cycle of me hesitating to take your hand and just _ choosing _ you."

Crowley couldn't help but gasp. He wanted to say something to console Aziraphale, but no words came. How many times had those same thoughts crossed his mind? Every time Aziraphale broke his heart, and that was more times than he cared to admit. 

"I should have gone with you to Alpha Centauri." Aziraphale nodded and swallowed a sob. "Instead I said horrible things--"

"Stop," Crowley demanded. 

"Do you know what my dream for us was?" Aziraphale clenched his fists, ready for a full out confession. "What I always hoped? From the beginning of the world. The day I thought we first met." He shook his head and waited for his snivelling to subside some before continuing. "I thought, 'maybe I could influence him. Perhaps if I become his friend, I can show him to be _ good _ . Perhaps one day, he'll want to repent and ask for forgiveness. And God, _ surely _ God would forgive him. Then we won't have to be on opposite sides.' I almost asked, begged you to change sides on that bandstand that day. But I didn't. I didn't because you never asked me to Fall. So, I drove you away because I knew it was hopeless." 

Crowley stood from his seat, which made Aziraphale backpedal. "Why are you telling me this? What does it matter anymore?"

"It matters because you never asked me to _ Fall _ , you just asked me to choose _ us _ . I had sided with Heaven when you had always been on _ our side. _ Then, when I finally _ defied _ Heaven, I made a choice for us. I decided that we needed to save the world. Again, I chose wrong."

"No!"

"_ YES! _ " Aziraphale dragged a hand through his hair and paced. "And now I know how you felt that day when I rejected you. Because now, when I've learned. When I had to _ lose _ you to learn. When I've _ finally _ caught up. You've chosen the world instead."

Crowley could no longer stand it. Aziraphale had worked himself up beyond consoling. He advanced on his angel and grabbed him by the shoulders. "I will _ always _ choose us. Always have."

Eyes crazed, Aziraphale cupped Crowley's face and smiled weakly. "Then let's _ go _," he begged.

Crowley stared at him, confused. "Where?"

He laughed, sounding quite deranged. "To Alpha Centauri! The other side of the universe! The quantum world for all I care! _ Anywhere! _ Anywhere but _ here _ ." His mania faltered and changed to despair. " _ Please _."

Could his heart break any more than it had? Crowley wondered as he pulled Aziraphale into a death-grip embrace. "Oh, angel," he let out in one breath, "wherever you want to go. We'll go. If that's what you really want. But I can't help but think that the day you gave up on the world is the day you gave up on yourself."

"No," Aziraphale croaked out, "it was the day I lost you. I was going to follow you into oblivion. Kill that _ fucking _ villain and end it all in the process because the world didn't matter anymore if you weren't _ in _ it!"

Crowley pulled back held his angels face. "You didn't _ lose _ me, Aziraphale. I'm right _ here _ ! And you really think that I would want you to destroy yourself?!" He gave him a small but vigorous shake. "Never! I'd want you to _ live _. Keep going. Live for both of us! Not surround yourself with-with," he waved an arm wildly at the wall of desserts, "cakes you won't eat, people you don't love, become someone you despise!"

Fury took hold of Aziraphale as he pushed at Crowley forcefully. "Says the demon who I found drinking himself into a stupor only hours before the end of the world, twiddling his thumbs while he waited for his destruction because he thought he lost his best friend!"

Crowley opened and closed his mouth several times. _ Well, he's got me there. _ He sighed and held his own head in his hands. "Fine," he relented. "I just... I just didn't think... didn't know that you were as entangled to me as I am to you."

"I am! And you _ let _ my world collapse around me!" Aziraphale's anger only burned hotter. His irises began to melt onto the rest of his eyes, covering them entirely in blood. "You as good as left me to die when you decided I didn't need to know you were alive!"

It was too much for Crowley. This face, he did not recognize. This was Azirath. Angry. Cold. Wrathful. The pain spread from his chest to the rest of his body. Crowley's hands shot to his heart as he collapsed to his knees. "I'm sorry, Aziraphale," he sobbed. 

And he was. Crowley was sorry for all of it. Aziraphale hadn’t cut him off, Crowley had severed himself - all by himself. _ And look at what I’ve done to him _ . _ I’ve made him bleed, alone. _

His angel suddenly seemed shocked out of his anger, and he used that moment to spout his sorry excuses. "I didn't want to risk the chance that'd you'd try and save me. You wouldn't have been able to! I didn't want to lose you." He shrugged pathetically and splayed his hands in supplication. _Don’t shut me out again, don’t leave me outside, _he wanted to say. "I'm sorry. Please. Forgive me."

The closest thing Aziraphale had seen to this kind of grief on his friend was at that pub when Crowley confessed, in five simple words, that he thought he'd never see him again. 

_ Sorry to hear it. _

That had been his reply to his best friend's misery. Because he thought there were more important things at stake. That they'd have time to talk about it later. Time to finally discuss what laid unsaid between them for so long. 

He could not make the same mistake twice. Would not.

Aziraphale fell to the ground and threw himself into Crowley's arms. "No, _ I'm _ sorry. It's not your fault. None of this would be happening if it weren't for me and my, my cowardice."

Aziraphale pulled away only to crush his lips to Crowley's. It was a desperate attempt to forget all of the hurt, all of the pain the past had inflicted. Because it no longer mattered. Crowley was alive. This was his second chance, _ their _ second chance, and he was not going to waste it on being angry with him.

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale whispered again on his lips. He didn't give Crowley a chance to speak as he planted more harsh kisses to his freshly bruised mouth between his words. "Forget it... let's forget all of it... We can do whatever you want…” And he meant it. Because that is what Crowley would have done. It was Crowley did every single time Aziraphale asked for anything, asked him to save the world. 

_ Whatever you want, angel. _

It was Crowley’s litany whether he said it aloud or not, Aziraphale had always heard it. Knew what it meant. Ignored what it meant and took as much as he could get, which was everything. Anything. Crowley would have never refused him, not really. Maybe he’d kick and scream for a bit but he always relented. Always indulged. 

_ Whatever you want, angel. _

It was high time to return the sentiment. “I'll do whatever you want, whatever you say... it's fine... I'll follow you anywhere even if you want to stay and save this cursed planet--"

"Angel, I--"

"No, no!" He continued his affectionate onslaught. "I mean it. _ Anything _ you want. Let's just _ be _ together. I don’t want to waste another second."

Crowley had effectively been thrown into a haze of warring emotions. He wanted to heal - _ be _ healed. He wanted to comfort - _ be _ comforted. Every kiss was a balm on his scarred heart, and he wanted more - _ needed _ more. Crowley finally started to kiss his angel back, and it quickly turned heated between them. 

His desire flared instantly, and Aziraphale abruptly began to tear Crowley's coat off. "We were interrupted. I've neglected you," he lamented breathlessly. 

"Understandable... given the circumstances," he husked between kisses. "Bed... would be nice."

At the request, Aziraphale clamoured to stand and pulled Crowley up by his wrists. They only made a few steps before Aziraphale caged Crowley against the kitchen island.

"Mmph!" Crowley exclaimed against his angel's neck as he lifted his hand in view, wholly covered in cake. 

They were both stunned for a moment before Crowley began to chuckle and Aziraphale followed with a giggle. 

"Here," Aziraphale said, "I'll clean you up." He was about to snap the mess away, but Crowley snatched his hand and tutted disapprovingly.

"Can't let this go to waste now, can we?" He purred.

There was a flash of fear in Aziraphale's eyes as he understood what he meant. Fear turned to excitement. He licked his lips and swallowed hard in anticipation. This temptation had always been difficult to pass up, but he had managed. Because he needed to atone for his many mistakes when it came to Crowley. But now, Crowley was here. And Crowley was wagging a long, meringue covered finger in front of his mouth. How on Earth was he supposed to resist that?

Crowley had his eyes glued on Aziraphale's. "Look at me," he demanded. Aziraphale obeyed and gasped. It was the perfect little opening, and he dragged his frosted digit against his angel's worry-wobble lip. He watched as Aziraphale's now visible pupils dilated at catching the scent of cake and he kept eye contact as his tongue darted out to taste it. Crowley revelled in his angel's sharp intake of breath as the first taste caused his eyes to flutter.

"Do you like it?" Crowley murmured. 

"Yes," he breathed.

"Do you want more?" Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer until he was flush against him. 

Aziraphale nodded, eyes half-lidded, cheeks burning. "Yes." He licked his lips again, waiting for Crowley to give him another taste.

Crowley, of course, obliged. Slowly, he traced Aziraphale's parted lips, then inserted one finger into his warm mouth. He held completely still as Aziraphale melted into him even more and moaned around his finger, the sound sending a bolt of lightning right through him. His clean hand gripped his rear, squeezed and pulled him even closer until Crowley was certain that Aziraphale could feel what this was doing to him. Aziraphale's moan deepened, his hips rocked forward, and he swirled his tongue around until there was no cake left.

It was good. It was so good. Sinful and delicious and it was causing Aziraphale to shake with need. The cake was supposed to be a mild, rose water vanilla flavour. It was supposed to be subtly sweet, but to Aziraphale, who hadn't tasted a gram of sugar in almost six centuries, it was explosive. 

"Oh, my, mmm..." Was all Aziraphale could say, eyes closed in bliss.

"Finish it up then," Crowley encouraged as he hovered his other digits before his angel. 

Something clicked into place for Aziraphale at that moment. Every second spent with Crowley brought back more of himself that he thought was forever lost. Food. He loved food. He _ loved _ food and sweets even more so. He took Crowley's hand in his and enthusiastically lapped and sucked. He was ravenous. He could hear Crowley groan in approval and somehow Crowley's hand had found its way between them to stroke the hardened bulge in Aziraphale’s trousers. He cried out at the contact. _ Oh, good lord. _As if the cake hadn’t been sweet enough, now he’d never be able to associate it with anything else. 

This was a dream come true for Crowley. He'd spent thousands of years watching Aziraphale eat, wishing one day his angel would gain as much pleasure from him as he did with his favourite treats. In the throes of lust, Crowley felt emboldened. 

"Think you'd like a mouthful of my cock as much as this?" Aziraphale stilled and snapped his owl-eyes open, pupils blown fat, fingers still his mouth, and then nodded slowly. "What are you waiting for then?"

Releasing Crowley's digits with a pop, Aziraphale worked quickly to undo Crowley's trousers with shaking hands and pulled them down to his ankles. He lifted Crowley's shirt and left a trail of kisses down his chest, his stomach, and groin before pulling down his pants and exposing his next feast. 

"Oh, you're magnificent," Aziraphale awed and wrapped a tremorous hand around Crowley. Aziraphale was shaking with nerves and want. He’d imagined it, dreamt of it, and now the time had come. He could scarcely believe it was happening, but taking one moment at a time, he managed to continue.

Crowley jerked and grunted at his touch and his words. Who had ever called him _ magnificent _ before? No one. He was a bit anxious, though he'd imagined this moment in more ways than one. But that had been with Imaginary Aziraphale, not this one. Not the real one. He was about to learn what he really felt like and he nearly whined with impatience before Aziraphale placed a tender kiss on his oversensitive flesh. _ Oh, fuck _ , he thought wildly, _ I'm not gonna make it. _If a kiss had burned him with desire to his very core, then he didn't know what was going to happen to him next. He gripped the counter hard and braced himself as Aziraphale opened wide and took him in. 

Pure, unadulterated, aching bliss washed over him as his angel's warm, moist mouth swallowed him whole. Crowley never had much of an appetite, but now he was suddenly insatiable and - _ oh, my stars did his mouth just water from this? _ A muffled, guttural groan from below affirmed his suspicions. Crowley wasn't the only one starved, it seemed. 

Crowley was salty-sweet decadence on Aziraphale's tongue. The closest thing to a religious experience since before his fall. Aziraphale could still taste the rosewater and sugary vanilla leftover in his mouth mixed with Crowley's savoury slickness, and it was _ divine _. There was no other way he could describe it. Crowley was his god now, and he was no longer afraid of blasphemy, so he worshipped diligently and piously - thoroughly.

"Fucking _ hell _ ," Crowley barked as Aziraphale sucked and bobbed below him. What his angel was doing to him was a downright sin. _ Well-p, I'm going to die, _ he thought, _ Right here with cake on my back and my cock down his blessed throat. _ "Angel, take us to a bed," he pleaded with a growl, "now." Aziraphale only took him in deeper and faster. " _ Ungh-mph-ngh--" _

Crowley's fingers were bloodless, and he was sure he'd be able to break off a piece of granite counter without a demonic miracle. He closed his eyes and willed himself steady in order to make his next words coherent. His hand flew to Aziraphale's silver, mussed tresses and tugged his head back, pulling out of his hollowed mouth and - _ Bugger it all, if that's not the most erotic thing I've ever seen! _It had to be a miracle keeping him from coming undone right then and there.

"You..." Crowley panted, "devil. If you don't stop--" something in Aziraphale's look interrupted his train of thought. "Is that an _ evil _ glint in your eye, angel?!"

Aziraphale's swollen lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. "Angel or devil, Crowley, you should probably pick one. It will determine how the rest of this evening will go."

Crowley's mouth dropped open in amused surprise. "Oho? Is that right?" _ Cheeky bastard! _ Crowley chuckled then he gave Aziraphale's hair another tug, but harder this time, eliciting a delightful yip. "Well, I have news for you, _ fledgeling _ ," he taunted with bravado, "I'm the father of Original Sin. Been a demon longer than you've walked this Earth." He pulled on Aziraphale's hair gently but strong enough to urge him to stand. "If anyone is going to be a devil _ tonight _ ," Crowley leaned into Aziraphale's red-stained ear and whispered, "It'sss going to be _ me _."

Crowley forcefully twirled Aziraphale in his arms and jerked his hips on his rear, clarifying his dominance. Aziraphale moaned, further proving Crowley's theory that his angel liked to be manhandled. It stood to reason since the most physical touch they ever shared before this day was when Crowley's sexual frustration bubbled and he'd have to remind Aziraphale _ physically _ to stop being so bloody _ tempting. _ Slamming and caging his angel against walls and dark corners had only happened a handful of times, but it had obviously left an impression.

"Now," Crowley continued his slow thrusts, "Take. Us. To. Bed." 

This time, Aziraphale obeyed.

Aziraphale brought them into a different room altogether. Judging by the view of the window, they were upstairs. He closed the curtains, cleared the dust, and lit the room with a snap, leaving the area in a soft romantic glow. Aziraphale was tingling with anticipation. 

Crowley kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his trousers while undoing Aziraphale's from behind him. For all the swagger and confidence he'd shown, he was nervous. This was it. After six thousand plus years, this was finally happening. _ Or is it? _

Crowley's hands stilled as the horrifying thought struck his fragile mind. Everything suddenly felt surreal, and it was terrifying.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale looked over his shoulder and was immediately concerned with the expression on his friend's face. He turned around to find Crowley staring into nothing, eyes glazed over, completely catatonic just like he'd been earlier that day. "No," he gasped with terror. He took Crowley's face in his hands. "Crowley!"

Crowley snapped out it and found Aziraphale's worried face before him. 

"Oh, thank G--Someone," Aziraphale breathed with relief, "I thought--"

"Slap me."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "What?"

Crowley pulled his angel close. "I need you to slap me. Or pinch me. Something."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Aziraphale scolded.

Crowley rested his brow on his angel's and sighed. "The pain... it's grounding. I need to know this is _ real _. That you're not just another figment of my imagination."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale stroked his back. How easily he'd forgotten that his friend had been kept in agonising solitude. "I've been awful to you. You've always been so good to me. Always." He felt Crowley's warm, shaky breath on his face and could tell he was going to deny his words, so he pulled hard on Crowley's long braid to stop him and give him what he needed.

Crowley hissed from the sudden pain and was jolted back to the moment completely. He got an eyeful of Aziraphale's apologetic expression and grinned wickedly. "This _ is _ real." Again, another troubling thought occurred. It was real… _ fast _. “Are you sure it’s no too... fast?” His heart constricted from the old wound. “We can wait--”

“We’ve waited long enough.” Aziraphale was beyond certain. “You’ll find I no longer hesitate. I never want to wait again.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed, “and you’re really… _ real… _”

Before Aziraphale could reply, Crowley was tearing away at his clothes. Soon they were completely bare and kissing, pressing against one another and feeling their bodies meld. They didn't bother with removing the covers, they just climbed onto the bed, never losing contact with each other. They tossed about for a long while, feeling and exploring until Crowley rolled Aziraphale on to his stomach.

Aziraphale's body burned so hotly that his heat seeped into Crowley's skin, warming him to the very core. He nestled himself between Aziraphale's cheeks and bit down on the meat of his shoulder, feeling and hearing Aziraphale respond to his touch. Crowley dragged his mouth downward, leaving kisses in his wake and spread his angel wide. 

Aziraphale tensed when he realised what Crowley was up to and was not prepared at all for the wave of degrading yet incredible pleasure that shot through him. What Crowley could do with his wicked tongue was beyond comprehension. Someone somewhere was moaning and wailing, then Aziraphale realised it was coming from his very mouth. He never even knew he could make sounds like that. He was given an all too brief moment of respite when Crowley suddenly began to prod and circle him with his slender but strong fingers. Aziraphale began to flush in earnest from just the thought of what Crowley was preparing him for. 

Though this was not the first time he'd shared a bed with someone, this was undoubtedly the first time anyone was going to enter him _ there _. An act he could only ever imagine experiencing with Crowley, and he never wanted anyone inside him so desperately. Jealousy bit at him like a poisonous snake at the thought of Crowley having been so intimate with anyone else, though he tried to smother it down. It was irrational, but knowing that logically didn't ease the sting. He wondered if Crowley had bedded blonds exclusively. Those musings didn't linger long because Crowley was now pumping a third digit within him. 

"Turn over, angel."

Aziraphale gasped when Crowley ended his ministrations and extracted his fingers. He turned over and was awed by the vision above him. "You're glorious," he whispered reverently as he gazed into those loving amber eyes. "And beautiful and I'm so fortunate--"

Crowley shut his fantastic mouth with a crushing kiss. He hooked one of Aziraphale's legs over his hip and rocked sensually and slowly, relishing in the feel of his angel beneath him, grinding on sensitive, slick flesh. He dared not use his power, no matter how frivolous and inconsequential, so Crowley brought his hand to his mouth and slathered it as much as possible before sending it between them. Then he settled himself and watched as his angel's pupils dilate under his lusty, half-lidded gaze. 

"Are you ready for me, angel?"

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his lover and nodded. "Yes," he breathed needily, "yes, please. I need you. Always have."

Those were words Crowley had always longed to hear, and he groaned when they fell upon his ears. He kept eye contact as he pushed forward and inward, stopping when Aziraphale's brow furrowed, and he bit down on his lip. Crowley was so concentrated on Aziraphale's every microexpression, searching for any hint of discomfort, that it staved off his growing pleasure. Once his angel relaxed again, he pressed on.

Stars were bursting behind Aziraphale's eyelids. The mix of pain and pleasure was quickly driving him to ruin. All he could think about was that Crowley was inside of him. That he was being _ fucked _ by the love of his life. He could feel his eyes water from the immense amount of love he was feeling at that moment, a sensation he thought lost forever when the remains of God's grace had been burned from his soul.

"Do you want me to stop?" Crowley asked, concerned at the silent tears about to spill from the corners of Aziraphale's eyes.

"No, don't you dare," he gasped and panted. "Come here," he said as he pulled Crowley down to him. When they were cheek to cheek, Aziraphale angled his hips and murmured lovingly in Crowley's ear. "I love you." Crowley moaned and nudged further still. "I know I can say better things. Or maybe everything that's been left unsaid is more powerful than those words will ever be, but I love you. I love you, Crowley. My darling. My heart. My love--" His words turned to strangled cries when Crowley suddenly drove deep.

"_ Aziraphale _," Crowley keened. He was surrounded by him. In him. Swallowed body and soul by his companion. His mate. Crowley was barely on the planet anymore but was still able to lock on to his goal of pleasing his angel. He pulled out only slightly to angle himself better and pushed in again, knowing he hit his target by the sound Aziraphale made. And kept making.

It didn't take long for Aziraphale to unravel completely beneath his lover and he continued to convulse and spasm, crying out his pleasure with wanton abandon. Finally, Crowley tensed in his arms and howled into the pillow, thrusting slow and deep with every eruption inside him. 

"I love you too, angel," Crowley murmured when he found sanity again. "But I think you've known that for a long time now."

Aziraphale smiled and pressed a kiss to his lover's cheek. "All the same, it's nice to hear it." 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, no cliffhanger again! I'm spoiling you all too much. 
> 
> Don't get too comfortable. This is still a DARK AU, after all.
> 
> I'm still writing chapter 15. Slowly chipping away at it every day. I'm a little over 2k words into it. Never fear! 
> 
> I'm out of art. So, I need to draw the next chapter's scene before I post it. 
> 
> Speaking of!! Check out this amazing fanart of [Azirath by veenaellia](https://www.instagram.com/p/B4TtBcMlkKh/?igshid=1vdvlhbnv40iu) He's BEAUTIFUL!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't made much progress with chapter 16 but I'm sure it won't take long to get it done. Pretty sure I promised someone I'd post today. 
> 
> If you're following me on Instagram, I've started a private insta stories! I'm using the share with "close friends" only so if you want to be able to see all the extra goodies I'll be posting there, send me a dm with "add me" and I'll follow you and put you on the list!
> 
> Thank you my lovely beta's: Azerath & Tim!
> 
> ***WARNING: There's a little LEMON in this chapter. Just an itty-bitty one.***

Only five days had passed since Crowley had returned to him, and Aziraphale felt like those five days had almost erased centuries of his torment. Other than Crowley's long hair, that he kept in the plait Aziraphale made for him, Crowley was very much unchanged. Crowley was still mischievous, still suave, still swaggered around like his hips had their own gravitational pull, and he even had the same taste in alcohol and music. Crowley did eat more than he remembered, however, and Aziraphale thought it was to encourage him to take pleasure in eating once more. On more than one occasion they had made love for hours with various slices of cakes and other morsels strewn about.

Aziraphale did have some concerns, however, about Crowley's state of mind. As much as Crowley tried to hide it, something was off, and it was evident in the way Crowley would seem to just check out in sudden moments. Crowley could be in mid-conversation, and his eyes would abruptly go blank as he lost his train of thought. In times like that, Aziraphale would gently call his name and give his hand a firm squeeze until Crowley snapped out of it. It worried him, but Crowley assured him that it was just a bad habit he'd be able to kick with time.

"I've just been sleeping with my eyes open for so long," he'd explain, "but I'll get over it. Don't worry, angel."

For the most part, Aziraphale would be put at ease by that reassurance, but one evening, while they listened to Bach by the fireplace, Crowley had chuckled and begun recalling a memory.

"Do you remember the time," Crowley began with a broad smile, "when you were trying to teach me the gavotte?" He sniggered again and took a sip of his wine. "It was just us at the shop, and you were hopping around, tugging me along with you. Yelling at me about how I was doing everything wrong." He laughed again, almost not able to get through the story. "And-and you got to the part where we were supposed to kiss? And you were like," he cleared his throat and made his best impression of the prim and proper Aziraphale, "'Right, well, now we greet each other like fine gentlemen, with a-a-a peck on the lips!'" His smile turned wistful. "And you did. You kissed me. It was so fast and so stiff that it should barely count." He turned his gaze to Aziraphale and smirked. "Did you set that all up just to kiss me?"

Aziraphale had not known what to say. He stared at Crowley in stunned silence until Crowley furrowed his brow with concern. 

"That, uh, that...," Crowley had gone very quiet and confused, "that never happened, did it?" He searched Aziraphale's face pleadingly, needing to know and yet clearly terrified of the answer.

The only thing Aziraphale could brave to do was shake his head slowly in denial. He swallowed down the urge to cry as he watched his lover's face twitch with uncertainty and distress. Aziraphale could not let him spiral, so he did the first thing that came to mind. He stood up and offered his hand to Crowley.

Crowley stared at his friend's open, waiting palm, then lifted his gaze to find Aziraphale smiling down at him. 

"Let's make it happen," Aziraphale stated firmly, his smile broadening at the prospect.

Crowley scoffed lightly and seemed unsure. "You don't have to do that."

"It happened for you," Aziraphale retorted, "I'd like to experience it as well. So," he looked down at his open hand, "show me how it happened."

Crowley willed his tears away and grasped Aziraphale's steady hand. When he stood, he released his lover and claimed his lips quickly. "Have the music for it?"

"No, I'm afraid," he replied with a chuckle," but I'm sure I can hum a jolly tune for it!" 

Aziraphale moved the chairs and sofa out of the way and was awed by how nervous he felt. He hadn't danced in ages, and he wasn't even sure he remembered the steps to the retired choreography. They stared at each other until they giggled at the absurdity of it all, but then Aziraphale started to hum and give instructions until they were tripping over one another and laughing so hard, they had to hold each other up to keep from falling. Eventually, they got to the kiss and forgot the dance entirely.

It grew more natural and easier for Aziraphale to slip back into his happier past self when they found themselves alone, which was most of the time. Occasionally he had to suffer Adam's presence, but the immortal boy kept his distance. From him, at least. Sometimes, Aziraphale would catch him and Crowley talking, and he'd watch Crowley get into teacher mode. It was nostalgic, seeing his friend vibrantly speak about history, botany, cars. It reminded him of when they were godfathers to Warlock. Best not think about that. It even threw him further back to when Aziraphale was his student aeons ago. Crowley would sometimes catch Aziraphale fondly watching him, and he'd ask him to join in the conversation, but Aziraphale would politely decline and say he needed to get back to his new duties. The prince did not want to become attached to the son of Satan, the reason everything literally went to Hell. Even with his heart as cold is it was, Aziraphale knew it was a possibility. Best not risk it. Warlock’s face refused to leave him for some time after that.

Now, Aziraphale watched Crowley from the bathtub as he swayed into the washroom, singing some infernal bebop tune he seemed to recognize from drives in the Bentley. He couldn't help but smile, bemused by his ridiculous lover who was attempting some kind of sensual dance in a bathrobe that was much too short on him. 

"I'm ready for my bath, angel," Crowley drawled and waggled his eyebrows.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but kept his smile. "Never going to let that go, are you?"

Crowley slid the robe slowly and sensually down off his shoulders. "Never." The gown dropped to the floor, exposing him completely. 

Aziraphale's eyes were hungrily taking in his naked appearance as Crowley swayed toward him, undoing his plait in the process. 

Crowley got into the tub and crawled his way up his angel to claim his mouth. "Mm," he hummed with satisfaction. "You know, love," he purred, "I'm feeling rather... pliant."

Aziraphale gasped and widened his eyes with interest. "Oh?" It was exciting for him. He knew Crowley meant he was in the mood to let him lead. To let Aziraphale take complete control. A rare treat, indeed. Though he more often than not prefered Crowley have at him in any way he fancied. "I am all too ready to please you, my darling."

Crowley's look could not have been coyer. "I want a nice, thorough bath...and..."

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow expectantly. "And?"

Crowley leaned forward again and murmured into Aziraphale's ear. "I want you to have your way with me in here. Fuck me 'til I won't be able to sit for a week."

A delicious shudder ran through the demon prince. "Absolutely. Whatever your heart desires."

"And..." Crowley could feel himself blush. It wasn't easy asking for things, especially for what he was about to ask for. He felt vulnerable but knew that Aziraphale would indulge him, Aziraphale had tried many times to drown him in words of affection and praise already, but Crowley had been overwhelmed every time, too overwhelmed to let him continue. 

"Ask, my heart," Aziraphale whispered as he nuzzled Crowley's cheek. "Tell me what you need. I want to give you everything. Everything you need."

"I want... ugh, why is this so bloody difficult," he hissed under his breath.

Aziraphale captured Crowley's face in his hands and looked into those serpentine eyes that were round with need. "You beautiful creature, you deserve everything and more. Tell me."

"That," Crowley croaked, "that. I want that." He huffed with frustration and hoped Aziraphale understood.

The prince furrowed his brow, but the confusion only lasted a moment. "Ah, I see." He caressed his lover's cheeks, kissed him sweetly, and led Crowley to turn away from him and relax against his chest. Aziraphale tested his theory. "Everything about you is magnificent."

Crowley dipped further into the water as his ears burned pink. He made a low, strangled noise as his angel's words took root in his vulnerable being.

Aziraphale grinned. His guess affirmed, he began to wash Crowley's hair, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. He was delighted when Crowley started to squirm against him. Aziraphale had noticed that Crowley seemed uncomfortable with his praises and endearments, had always been. It was delightful to know his words could affect him so. He still hoped it would. After so many years of holding so many things back, always wondering how Crowley would have reacted had his tongue slipped while they were drunk, Aziraphale could finally dote on Crowley with everything he'd always wanted to say. That, of course, made him realize how much his hurtful words must have affected Crowley in the past. So many painful memories rose to the surface before he could stop them.

He was filled with an urgent need to make up for all of it.

So, as Aziraphale kneaded and washed his lover's body, he breathed and murmured. "The world was always a bit darker for me when you were not around, you know? Can you believe that even when we lived at the Dowlings, on the same grounds, saw each other every day, I still missed you when we'd part?"

Crowley hummed in answer and took a breath to confess something he'd kept hidden, but then he took the coward’s way out and closed his mouth. 

Aziraphale noticed he was about to speak. He rested his chin on Crowley's shoulder. "What were you going to say, love?"

Caught, Crowley had no choice but to say something. "I just wondered how... how long did you... have you..." He trailed off, wondering if he even wanted to know that answer.

"How long have I been hopelessly in love with you?"

"Ngh-yeah..."

Aziraphale smiled into his damp hair. "Before my memories returned to me, I had always craved your company after what I thought was our first encounter. More so after every meeting. I liked looking at you. On the wall, that first time, you smiled at me, and I was at a complete loss, barely heard a word you said after that."

Crowley chuckled and brought Aziraphale's knuckles to his lips. 

"I could no longer deny my feelings after you pranced about in that church and saved my books."

"I don't prance! Never pranced," he grumbled.

Aziraphale moved his lover's hair away and kissed his neck. "Now that I have my memories, though? I fell in love with you at the very first lecture."

Crowley was stunned. He turned around in his angel's arms and gave him a sceptical look. "Don't tease."

With the most loving gaze he could give, Aziraphale tucked some wet strands of red behind Crowley's ear. "I was riveted," he whispered. "It was difficult to retain any information," he chuckled, "so passionate, so full of wonder and love. You glowed." Aziraphale ignored Crowley's growing embarrassment. "I started to take vigorous notes because I wanted to make you proud, and someday approach you. I was so nervous, and I almost bolted out the door when I finally did."

"Ridiculous," Crowley muttered and turned around again to hide his flushed face. He settled against Aziraphale and shrugged. "Go on," he said, as if completely unaffected by the confession. Inside, he was giddy with the new information.

Aziraphale decided to keep his hands busy while he continued to pour out his heart. He grabbed a bar of soap and slowly dragged it against Crowley's chest. "I was barely able to tap you on the shoulder. Then you turned around and smiled as if you were greeting an old friend even though we'd never properly met before."

"No one really ever cared to talk with me after lectures," Crowley shrugged again. "I was genuinely happy to see you. Every time."

Aziraphale's heart swelled and broke simultaneously, remembering the lonely Archangel of Wisdom, protecting the vault that contained God's Word. He brought his hand lower, bringing the bar of soap to Crowley's taught belly. "I didn't understand that my love for you was any different than the love I felt for the others. Not back then. But I craved your company and your smile above all others." Aziraphale's wistful smile disappeared, and he sighed sadly. His voice became strained with frustration and regret. "When I saw that Lucifer and his... group were often seeking your counsel, I was so sure that you preferred him over me. Both of you being archangels and all. Why would someone like you want to spend any time with someone like me?"

"Aziraphale!" Crowley tried to turn, but his angel held fast, and he felt his face pressed into his ear.

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale said urgently, "if I had just overcome my insecurities, been braver...!"

"It wouldn't have changed a thing!" Crowley shot his hand behind him to Aziraphale's head and caressed him. "I would have kept my secrets anyway because I didn't want you to suffer along with me."

Crowley's words at least shocked Aziraphale into a contemplative silence, allowing Crowley to continue with his reassurances. "Let's not dwell on what if's, angel. What happened happened, but we're here now." He squirmed further into Aziraphale's embrace and gave small, suggestive thrusts. "And the water is getting cold," he drawled. "You promised me..."

"Yes, forgive me." Aziraphale leaned his head lower and nipped at his demon's bruised flesh on his shoulder. He warmed up the water with a thought and continued his ministrations.

"All this time," Crowley breathed, tensing a bit as Aziraphale dipped his hands even lower. "I thought I'd been pining the longest. Though you only beat me to it by one encounter. I didn't dare hope you'd seek me out again after the first time. But I was enchanted with you as well."

Aziraphale hummed in answer and hooked his arm under Crowley's knee, bringing his leg out of the water and over the edge of the bathtub. "I couldn't stay away." His lover shuddered against him as he proceeded to do the same with the other leg. "I've wondered," Aziraphale mused aloud, "if you'd want me to call you by your First name."

"Nuh-uh," he replied, shaking his head. "Too weird for that now." He jerked suddenly when Aziraphale brought the bar of soap between his legs. "Want me to, uh, mmf, sure you don't want me to call you--"

"No," Aziraphale murmured against the small serpent tattoo. "My name sounds so right when it rolls off your skilful tongue." The bar of soap was forgotten when he wrapped his right hand around Crowley's hardened length. He brought his other hand between them and kneaded Crowley's lower back, inching his way further beneath him. "You're so beautiful, my love. Spread open for me to take."

Crowley could only groan in response. When Aziraphale finally slipped his hand under him and began a more thorough prodding, he arched and curled his toes, biting down on his lip.

It wasn't long before the water ran over the edges of the tub. The sound of splashing onto the tile floor was barely heard over their moans as Aziraphale thrust into Crowley.

"Touch yourself, my darling," Aziraphale husked while he gripped both of Crowley's legs beneath his knees, pulling them back to drive into him deeper. "Show me how you like to be touched."

The change in angle was enough to make Crowley see stars, but with those words between his angels pants and grunts, he was mindless with pleasure. Crowley could only obey.

"Yes, my heart," Aziraphale rasped as he picked up the pace. "Oh, the sounds you make," he was truly breathless now, but he wanted to give Crowley what he asked for, what he needed. "You're so good to me. You're exquisite. You feel wonderous like this - oh, I love you!" He raised his voice over Crowley's keening. "My heart, my dearest, my beloved--"

Crowley let out a choked sob and came apart. "A-angel!" 

Crowley's cry of pleasure pushed Aziraphale over the edge as well, and they rode out their frenzy together. 

The massive fireplace warmed up the entire room, but Crowley laid bundled up and boneless on their bed while Aziraphale combed his hair. He watched as Aziraphale struggled with his knotted ends, an adorable look of concentration on his face. Crowley couldn't help the small ache in his chest as he gazed up at his lover's familiar flustered expression. A look Aziraphale hardly ever wore nowadays. His angel was so much more confident now and always on guard. It seemed that only Crowley could make his hardened exterior crack. That fact made Crowley feel proud but also a bit guilty. 

He fixated on Aziraphale's long, silver hair that had already air-dried in waves and loose curls. He liked it that way. It reminded him of how his hair used to be, but he seemed to fancy his current look best. It suited him. Crowley let his gaze wander to Aziraphale's eyes, crimson and sad. It was odd, not seeing the ever-changing hazel anymore. He remembered how Aziraphale's irises had started to bleed over in his grief and rage, which sent a jolt to his heart. In all the years he'd known him, Crowley had never seen Aziraphale so angry, so heartbroken. To think that he was the cause of his angel's pain made him want to throw himself at his feet forever. He continued to stare when Aziraphale fixed his eyes on his.

Aziraphale fought back a frown by licking his lips and bringing his concentration back to another section of Crowley's hair. He swallowed hard before he ventured to speak. "What?"

Crowley reached up and wrapped one of Aziraphale's curls around his finger. "Just admiring your hair. These waves and coils suit you."

Yes, Aziraphale thought solemnly, reminiscent of how it used to be. "You miss him." He dared not make eye contact. He knew the truth but also knew he could not face it in Crowley's expression.

"Miss who?"

Aziraphale fought with his emotions before replying. It needed to be discussed. He knew this too. "Me." He focussed all of his attention on one particular knot. "The old me. I hoped you wouldn't. The old me was a coward and never treated you how you deserved. But I suppose there are some lost aspects that--"

Crowley shot up to his knees and clasped Aziraphale's face with both hands, forcing eye contact. "I loved everything about you back then. I love everything about you now. And it's not like you're two different people, Aziraphale, as much as you want to believe that. You're still you. You're still my angel. You've just got..." he fought for the right words, "more layers, is all. Experiences, for better or worse, shape us all. But at our core?" He kissed a single tear rolling down his lover's cheek. "Our true self remains, and I see you. Always have. And you are beautiful."

Aziraphale's face crumpled in grief as he shook his head. "I've done horrible things."

"So have I--"

"I destroyed Michael," Aziraphale blurted out.

Crowley reeled for a moment and furrowed his brow. His hands dropped into his lap. "What?"

Aziraphale fought back a sob, the loss of Crowley’s touch felt like instant rejection. "That was my test. I executed Michael on Satan's orders." He waited for the inevitable horror on Crowley's face.

Crowley let out a puff of air, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wow." The gravity of that information began to sink in and make the wheels in his brain turn. Prince Azirath, destroyer of archangels, Gabriel's words echoed in his mind. He heard Aziraphale sniff and snapped his eyes up to find him close to breaking. "Come here, angel," he said gently as he pulled his lover into his embrace. 

Aziraphale hesitated at first but then practically dove into Crowley's arms. "I killed them with your sword," he snivelled. "I didn't even care. I felt nothing."

"Seems to me you feel something now," he murmured as he stroked his pale locks. 

"Only because I'm afraid you'll hate me," he whispered back the truth. If he felt any guilt, it was for not feeling guilty. "I'm not worthy of you."

Crowley scoffed. "You think I don't have blood on my hands? Think I feel any more worthy of your love, your friendship even?" He pulled back tucked silver waves behind his angel's ears. "I destroyed Ligur. He was a twat but still. Many of my temptations led to bloodshed, and I have over six thousand years under my belt of that."

"But you had to do it--"

"So did you."

"How can you still look at me--"

Crowley crushed his lips to his lover's. "I'm sorry, Aziraphale,” he murmured against his lips. “I'm sorry you've had to do awful things to survive, but if I had to choose between you and bloody Michael or whoever else? I'd choose you. If that makes me an evil bastard, then so be it."

Aziraphale took in a shaky breath and exhaled a little more relieved. "I was so sure that you wouldn't recognize me. Michael didn't, at first. I thought... that being an angel, being good, was what you loved most about me."

Crowley took his hands and squeezed. "I'd recognize you in any form. I felt you before I even saw you. And, yeah, your holiness was attractive because it was forbidden to me. As I imagine, my wickedness held the same kind of unbidden appeal for you. I think you rather liked I was a bad boy, eh?" He purred and waggled his eyebrows. "Unless I'm totally wrong, in which case you should say something now before I embarrass myself further - good lord, say something!" He poked at Aziraphale's belly and laughed.

A chuckle and a blush escaped him before he could stop himself. Aziraphale released Crowley's hands and wrapped them around his neck as he straddled his thighs. "Since we're being so honest..." He blushed. "I do believe that the fact you were forbidden to me inspired some treasonous fantasies on more than one occasion."

"Oh?" Crowley grinned and placed a sensual kiss on his angel's lips. "And," he murmured against the corner of his mouth, "did you ever act on those fantasies?"

Aziraphale gave him a coy smile. "Maybe." He peppered kisses on Crowley's lips and cheeks slowly but felt him tense in his arms. When Aziraphale pulled back, Crowley was lost in his mind, eyes glassy and vacant. Aziraphale tried not to panic or let his grief overwhelm him. Instead, he placed more tender kisses on Crowley's face and called out to his being with his name.

"Crowley. Wake up. Crowley... please."

Crowley sniffed loudly and blinked up at his lover who seemed wrought with worry. "Hello," he said as he smoothed out the concerned creases on his angel's forehead. "Didn't mean to worry you, angel. It's just..." he furrowed his brow in contemplation. "I hate to bring this up again, but did you say you executed Michael on Satan's orders?"

Aziraphale tightened his hold on Crowley and nodded his head.

"That's... interesting." He was starting to go deep in thought again when Aziraphale shook him slightly to keep him grounded.

"Why?"

"Well," Crowley began as he peeled Aziraphale off him and led them both to sit against the headboard, "Lucifer and Michael were very close before. Did most everything together." 

The memory of Lucifer and Michael flying overhead came back to Aziraphale, and he never thought about until now, but they were flying so close together that the tips of their wings grazed each other.

Crowley shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Part of my issue with God was that she created her angels alone. Each one brought into existence completely from her herself and therefore reliant on her alone, but then she distanced herself from us. The humans, though, the first ones, she created as a pair, as companions."

"I've wondered about that myself actually," Aziraphale was quick to understand where Crowley was headed. "But she created twenty million of us. An even amount. And we..."

"Sought companionship in each other, yes. Then ten million Fell..."

Aziraphale nodded. "And ten million didn't.”

The two demons eyed each other questioningly. 

Crowley took a deep breath before he continued. "I think you and I chose each other before we even realized we did," he said softly as he took Aziraphale's hand again. "And I noticed other pairs forming after some time. Lucifer and Michael were companions as much as we were, more so at the time. They shared a true bond... until they didn't."

"He's a beast," Aziraphale hissed, utterly disgusted at the thought of wanting one's companion murdered. Then he realized he had been Satan's weapon to bring that about and was then disgusted with himself. It was probably all the mourning Michael would get from him, but at least felt something about it now. Maybe there was still hope for him after all.

Crowley nodded. "Lucifer began to admonish love, but even in battle, he did not so much as harm a hair on Michael's head. How long was Michael imprisoned?"

Aziraphale thought hard. "About two and a half centuries at least. And he specifically hunted them down. Bounty and all."

"Why kill Michael now? Why choose you to do it?" Crowley questioned though he seemed to know the answer already.

Quick-minded as Aziraphale was, he understood right away. "Satan sees love as a weakness. He saw what that weakness was doing to me," he muttered, "so he finally decided to end his bond. Chose me as some sort of poetic farce."

"Yeah..." Crowley narrowed his eyes, "Except I don't think that's the whole answer. Think about it, Aziraphale. How many times have we seen humans heartbroken until they find someone else to lavish their affections on? Countless times. I don't think Satan had the strength to put Michael to death until someone else came along."

Crowley noticeably paled and stared at their linked hands. He looked up his lover, face pinched in panic. “Angel?”

Aziraphale could almost taste his terror and it was then that it became clear. “No,” he denied flatly. “No. Impossible.”

Crowley’s breath came in shallow gasps. “Name anyone else. Anyone. I beg you.”

Aziraphale wracked his brain for any memory that could be useful but he could only remember the feel of Satan’s eyes upon him at the recognition ceremony, Satan’s short embrace in the garden, his lavish praises at meetings, Satan’s admission that he prefered women but liked to switch things up, the way he tried to keep him in his castle. “No.” He shook his head, eyes wide with horror. But it made sense. The timing was too coincidental and he could think of no one else, no one new, that Satan might have set his eyes on. Christ alive, Aziraphale thought, Michael put to death by his newly groomed… pet. 

“Fuck,” Aziraphale breathed. “It’s…”

“No, angel, no. It has to be--”

“Me.” Aziraphale was certain there could be no one else. “I’m the only new blood in his inner circle.” He swallowed hard. “But he hasn’t been very obvious or forthright…”

Crowley dragged a hand over his terror-stricken face. “When is he ever?”

They stared at one another in shocked silence. He wanted to beg Crowley once more to leave with him and forget the world, but he knew he could not. It was a topic that Azirphale avoided at all costs, no matter how many times Crowley tried to broach the subject. He just wanted them to be happy for once. To play along with Satan's games for as long as they could and hope that one day when their fragile paradise would inevitably come crashing down around them, that he would whisk Crowley away to safety like Crowley had tried to do before.

But he didn’t need to beg. Even if he did, and Crowley’s train of thought was right, it didn’t matter anyway.

Livid, Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and stared deeply into his eyes through thin slits. “If Lucifer… fancies you,” he ground out with disgust, “if you think for a even moment that he plans to lay a bloody finger on you…” a vein bulged on his forehead as he grew more furious at that horrid thought, “...we’re getting the hell outta Dodge.” 

As much as Aziraphale loved the sound of that, a troubling fact could not be avoided. “My love,” Aziraphale whispered gravely, “if Lucifer has his eyes set on me, there is nowhere we can go where he won’t follow… eventually.”

Crowley snarled. “Fuck!” If Aziraphale was right, it certainly didn’t help that he’d been fooling Satan with his out of service act. Crowley wasn’t an idiot, he knew Satan was just waiting for him and Aziraphale to slip up. He knew he only allowed them to leave because he thought Adam would spy on his behalf. Probably testing Adam’s loyalty in the process as well. Satan held grudges. Satan always takes what he wants. Crowley was definitely panicking now.

Aziraphale’s initial dread subsided as soon as he noticed Crowley had retreated into his mind once more, most-likely spiralling toward dark places. He needed to be strong for him. Calm him. Protect him. He climbed onto his lover’s lap again. He kissed his demon hard, pouring all his affection into him through the contact of their lips and bodies. 

When Aziraphale pulled back, he cupped Crowley’s face that was blinking away whatever he had been imagining. “All it means, to my utter disappointment, is that we need to stay and win. If that monster has some twisted obsession with me, then we already know his weakness.”

“No, I won’t allow you to be some kind of bait!”

“We don’t even know for certain yet. We’ll be vigilant. We’ll plan. And when we succeed, because we cannot fail, we’ll be free--”

“We will rebuild this world together,” Crowley whispered fervently. “And someday I’ll be able to take you out to lunch, and ice cream, and crepes--”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh. 

“-- take you on a proper bloody date!”   
Aziraphale chuckled again and placed a tender kiss on Crowley’s brow that still held concern. “Sounds lovely,” he murmured wistfully. He wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck and buried his face in his auburn locks. 

If Aziraphale were an optimist, he’d have imagined a brighter future. A future that Crowley obviously wanted for them. And Aziraphale did want that future, but more than anything, he wanted Crowley. If keeping Crowley meant going up against Satan and a hoard of demons, then so be it. Still, Aziraphale was happy knowing that Crowley felt the same as he. Nothing was worth losing the other. 

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh... what do you all think? Think Crowley and Aziraphale might be right? That could mean a lot of trouble huh? 
> 
> Don't forget to follow me on Instagram and ask me to add you to the private list! I'll be posting future chapter excerpts, time-lapse of the art, updates on how the writing is going, updates on when I'll post, maybe even narrate some excerpts with my undoubtedly atrocious British accent (but at least it'll be funny?). 
> 
> My handle is @mordellestories


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you on my IG private stories list have already seen the art in this chapter. I bet you're a bit confused... (if you want to be added to the list, look for @mordellestories on IG and send me a dm with "add me"!)
> 
> Thank you betas Azeran and Tim!
> 
> This chapter and the next have some big trigger warnings. 
> 
> Here we go:
> 
> ***WARNING: High panic/anxiety. Psychological torture. Non-con touching/kissing.***

Day or night, the darkness was still all-consuming. The hint of red in the sky was dimming, and Aziraphale wondered what the night sky looked like from Satan's blasphemous garden. Maybe he'd ask Lucifer to show him. He didn't necessarily want to poke the lion, but Aziraphale needed more information, more proof that Lucifer was indeed lusting after him. Much could be said about Satan, but Aziraphale would be a fool not to acknowledge that the Deceiver was cunning and patient. He would have to hone in on those virtues for himself as well, if he was going to destroy the evil brute.

It had been nearly a month with no word from Satan or Gabriel. That had been absolutely fine with him. Although there was the ever underlying anxiety about the whole situation, it was the closest to bliss Aziraphale had ever experienced on New Earth, and he intended to enjoy every blessed moment of it.

_Like a honeymoon, he thought with a smile that faded almost instantly, except with the Antichrist and his pooch under my roof. _

But now the honeymoon was clearly over. Aziraphale stared at the letter requesting an in-person progress report on Adam's education with a frown. 

"What is it," asked Crowley who was pouring them a drink.

"Satan requires an audience." He turned to Crowley and handed him the letter. "Specifically mentions you as well. He wants us all there."

Crowley pursed his lips and took a large gulp from his wine glass. "Testing us. Trying to _wheedle_ me out of my coma-shell. Interrogate Adam probably while he's at it." He refused to mention anything regarding any other plans Satan might have for Aziraphale in particular. "We need to prep the boy."

"We all need to be prepared," Aziraphale sighed and took his seat on the sofa. "Would you talk to Adam and make sure we are all on the same page."

"Nope," Crowley popped the p and gave Aziraphale his drink. He ignored his lover's annoyed scoff. "As much as I like teaching how to be a arsemonger one-oh-one, you've got to end this passive-aggressive war between you two."

"Why?" He was not really asking.

"Because you're on the same _side_!"

"I thought I was on our side," Aziraphale grumbled petulantly.

Crowley rolled his eyes and groaned. "Angel, we need to work together for our side to see another smoggy, post-apocalyptic day!" Crowley dropped into the seat next to his lover, an arm lounging on the backrest behind him. "He made a _mistake_, Aziraphale--"

"A mistake that ended the bloody world," he spat out in reply. "That took you away from me," he muttered with disdain. "_Billions_ perished! I don't even despise him the way I should. So stop pestering me about--" He caught himself before he could end that sentence. He didn't want to argue. Not with Crowley. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Forgive me," he finally said softly. "The summons has me out of sorts. If you want me to talk to him, then I will."

Crowley shook his head as he watched Aziraphale near chug his wine. "You keep doing that."

Aziraphale licked his lips and played the ignorance card. "Doing what?"

"Avoiding topics we disagree on. You're allowed to argue with me, you know? Have your own thoughts and opinions. You just go along with anything I want or say." Crowley's wine suddenly tasted bitter. 

Aziraphale shrugged. "Wherein lies the problem?"

"That's not what I bloody want!" He leaned forward, taking his arm away from its perch, and gesticulated wildly. "I want for you to-to _not_ want _everything_ I want! Have your own wants, bless it!" Abruptly, he was standing and pacing. When he finally stopped, it was to point an accusing finger at his lover. "You know what I think?"

Aziraphale knew better than to answer, so he raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

"I think you despise Adam because he reminds you of someone."

Aziraphale frowned and furrowed his brow with confusion. "Who might that be?"

"You!"

"Me?" He was genuinely surprised.

"Yes, you!" Crowley nearly sloshed the contents of his wine over the rim of his glass. "You blame Gabriel, Satan, you blame Adam, probably blame God, but the person you blame the most for all that's happened is you. You can't forgive yourself, so you can't forgive Adam either. He lost his friends too, Aziraphale. They weren't around when he made a mistake. And I wasn't around when you..." he sputtered to a stop before he lodged his foot further down his throat.

_Fell and became a bloodthirsty fiend, unworthy of even being in your presence, Aziraphale finished in his head._

Crowley swore he felt Aziraphale's heart plummet, and he could tell that his angel was trying his best to seem unaffected. "I didn't..." he breathed, "I don't mean that you made bad decisions," he said quietly.

Aziraphale refused to tear his eyes away from the rug under his feet. "Just... mistakes," he whispered. 

"No, I mean," Crowley growled with frustration then kneeled before Aziraphale. He set his glass down on the floor and then placed his hands on his lover's lap. "We were each other's true north, angel. You reminded me that I could be..." he struggled, "good... sometimes. And I showed you how to be a bit of bastard when you needed it." He gave Aziraphale a faint smile. "And it paid off. Not a bad teacher, me. If I do say so myself." He grinned and kissed Aziraphale's knee.

"You're right." With his free hand, Aziraphale caressed Crowley's face with his knuckles. "I felt lost without you. I was lost without you. I made appalling decisions, almost lost myself entirely. And I do blame me most of all. That's why I want to do things right by you this time. Not argue. Please you. Be _good_ for you."

"Angel," Crowley murmured, "those appalling decisions brought you back to me. You played your cards well even though you were dealt a shit hand. I don't regret a single, fucking thing you've done. And you shouldn't either."

Cowley took Aziraphale's hand and placed a tender kiss into his palm. "If you're determined to do whatever I want, then I want you to stop blaming yourself for what happened. You forgave me when I was cruel to you."

"You were never cruel to me--"

"Neither were you."

Aziraphale scoffed as tears brimmed in his eyes. "Yes, I was. Over and over again. I chose--"

"Everything you did or didn't do was to keep us _safe_. When I didn't have my head so far up my own arse, I knew that. And you chose the world because you chose us. You wanted exactly what I want now. A life together. Here. On this planet. Hate to break it to you, angel, but as beautiful as Alpha Centauri is, there are no cakes--"

The prince scoffed again and shook his head, wanting to keep feeling sorry for himself. Crowley was giving him too much credit.

"--no wine. No books... No _bedsss_," he suggested with a purr and dragged a hand between Aziraphale's legs.

Aziraphale gasped. It was almost miraculous the way Crowley could fill him with so much desire so quickly. At the slightest, but purposeful touch, and his low, tempter's drawl, Aziraphale could barely keep himself from swooning. 

"Perish the thought," Aziraphale rasped while he pressed Crowley's hand further onto his hardening length. He surged forward and claimed his demon's lips. 

Scarlet, who had been blissfully asleep in a basket near the fireplace, emerged suddenly and hissed. The demon's eyes widened at the snake's warning. Someone was nearby. Crowley lurched on the sofa and played dead, well, vegetable. Aziraphale straightened his now tight trousers and banished Crowley's drink. 

There was a light sound of patter before a bark echoed into the parlour. 

Aziraphale and Crowley sighed with relief when Adam and Dog walked in cautiously. "Um, hi, I got a letter from... Satan. He wants us--"

"Yes, we're aware," Aziraphale gave Adam a once over before he motioned for the boy to sit at the winged chair nearby.

Adam looked to Crowley, who nodded encouragingly. He quickly made his way to the chair and sat at complete attention. He was scared of saying or doing anything that would anger Azirath further, so he tried waiting for one of the demons to speak. And failed.

"I'm not gonna tell," Adam blurted out with wide eyes. "I promise I won't."

Crowley leaned onto his thighs and shrugged. "I think we already know you won't betray us..."

"Intentionally," Aziraphale finished his sentence. "Satan cannot be lied to. Not outright anyway."

Adam perked up and swallowed. "I've been practising with Crowley. Tell as much of the truth as possible and mix in some lies. Think about the words and their meaning and respond accordingly."

"Exactly," Crowley nodded and gave Adam a proud wink. 

Aziraphale was not so sure the boy could handle Satan's manipulations. "We need to expect the unexpected, as oxymoronic as that sounds. Prepare for the worst and have our wits about us."

Crowley took over. "He'll say and do anything if it means discovering the truth. He's a tricky bastard, Adam and we're a bit, um, concerned that he'll focus on getting the truth from you."

"I can handle it," Adam assured them.

Aziraphale scoffed and chuckled mirthlessly. "Your father will whisk your brain into whipped cream and _eat_ it before you know what's happened, boy."

Adam flinched. 

"Ngh, have a little faith, Aziraphale!" Crowley whined.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley with eyebrows near his hairline. "I'm afraid I ran out of that quite some time ago, my dear. There's nothing and no one left to have faith in!" He snapped his head back to Adam when Crowley grimaced as if saying he might be right. "The sooner you learn that, pupil, the better chance we will have at staying alive."

"So, what do we do?" Adam nearly quaked in his seat when Azirath gave him a toothy smile.

"We're going to interrogate you," Azirath replied simply. "We will show no mercy, for your father won't either. If you can withstand us both, we just might live long enough to tell the tale someday."

Adam nodded. "When do we start?"

Crowley sprang out of his seat and rubbed his hands together. "We must defer no time! Delays have dangerous ends."

Aziraphale smirked up at his beloved. "That was yours too?"

"Psh! As if anything Shakespeare wrote was original, really, angel."

  
The Prince of New Earth stood in Satan's throne room with Crowley and Adam on either side. It took every ounce of will to keep his hands from trembling. He was frightened, and rightfully so, because now he had something to lose. Something dear and precious. The kind of dread he was feeling now was still alien to him and shocking. He thought he would be calmer and collected after the gruelling preparations they had practised for three days straight. The reminder that they had done all they could to be ready for this moment did nothing to quell Aziraphale's fears. 

They'd been waiting, standing in the throne room for at least thirty minutes before Satan, his guards, and Beelzebub emerged from the halls before them. Beelzebub briefly looked alarmed by their presence, but their face became blank again quickly.

"That'll be all Beelzebub, thank you!" Satan dismissed cheerily. 

Lucifer didn't take his eyes off them until Beelzebub walked past the three of them. Perhaps he had hoped for some reaction from them, but Beelzebub had only greeted them with barely a glance and a "Hail, Satan."

Now, Satan's eyes drifted to Aziraphale, and he smiled, looking absolutely thrilled. "My son!" He greeted enthusiastically before even looking at him. "Come greet your father."

Adam gave away none of his feelings as he marched toward Satan, and it was only then that Aziraphale realised that he had no idea what Adam truly felt about his father. The boy knew that they planned to destroy Satan, so he must not have any love for the brute, but Aziraphale knew enough about love to recognise how messy and irrational it could be. Perhaps the boy harboured something akin to love for his father. He would have to get to the bottom of that as soon as they arrived back home. Well, that is only if they could survive the meeting.

Aziraphale had to hold back an incredulous look when he watched as Satan leaned down to give Adam the most awkward hug he'd ever seen. It was as if he didn't know what to do with his arms, and Adam certainly wasn't helping as he just stood there like a statue. Finally, Satan gave up and just patted his son on the head like a dog. Aziraphale could almost hear Crowley pointing and laughing.

"Hi," Adam offered in greeting.

"Good to see you, son. An entire month away from home! How was it?" Satan held Adam’s attention without so much as blinking. 

The interrogation had begun.

"Fantastic, actually." Adam brightened a bit. "He's a really great teacher."

_Good_, Aziraphale thought as he noticed Adam had refrained from using his name. He was obviously complimenting Crowley.

"Well, I would hope so! He was taught by the very best!" Satan flashed his gaze toward Crowley, then back to Adam. "I want to hear about everything. Absolutely everything," he grinned. "But we can talk later. I have some business to discuss with Azirath. I'll call on you once we've finished."

Adam shrugged. "Okay." He made to start walking but hesitated.

Aziraphale felt his spine freeze over. _Leave! He thought in a panic. Leave before he asks you more questions!_

"Something the matter?" Satan asked with a knowing smile.

"Um," Adam stammered, "I'm actually... looking forward to it," he muttered bashfully. He smirked and then darted off through the archway.

For once, Aziraphale got to see what Satan looked like in actual shock and he had the sudden, and overwhelming sensation to arm pump in victory. _Ha! Cheeky brat,_ he thought proudly. Adam was asking for trouble. Basically challenged the Father of Lies to a duel of wits without Satan knowing the wiser. He was either brave or stupid, and Aziraphale was almost certain it was the latter. _Still, small victories should be celebrated... for one never knows when there will be another._

Satan blinked away his momentary confusion and turned his attention to Aziraphale. There was a strange look in his eyes that Aziraphale could not quite place and it worried him. It seemed somehow earnest and a bit vulnerable. Aziraphale swallowed hard and hoped it was just his paranoia. He was ready to tally any words or actions that may point to Lucifer's preposterous attraction to him.

"Come, Azirath," Satan waved him over, his voice taking on a genuinely warm and welcoming tone. "Let's have a drink and chat somewhere more private."

_Shit._ Did speaking in private count as a sign? Aziraphale looked to Crowley and back to Satan.

"Bring your pet if you must," Satan chuckled as if he didn't care either way.

Aziraphale knew better but decided to test the waters anyway. "Maybe I can leave him under Beelzebub's care if they are up to it?"

The Deceiver tilted his head and appraised the prince. The smirk on his face was telling. He knew he was being tested. "You'd really leave him under the care of another demon? You trust Beelzebub so much?"

That was not the answer he was hoping for. Aziraphale could not lie. "No. No, of course not. I don't know what I was thinking." He threaded Crowley's arm through his own and walked determinedly to their uncertain future.

Two guards walked in front of him and two guards behind with Satan leading the way. Aziraphale grew even more wary the deeper they got through the hall. They had already passed the room where the Dark Council held meetings. Business meetings. Business that Satan had said he needed to discuss with Aziraphale. Yet they passed right by it without pause. It was now unfamiliar territory. Not good. Not good at all. 

With a turn to the left, the hall grew much broader and led directly to--

"I think we'll be most comfortable in my private parlour," Satan called over his shoulder, his voice unreadable.

It was like someone was suddenly jackhammering behind Aziraphale's ribs. He willed his body to stave off the building panic. The gold-adorned double doors opened but not before Aziraphale and Crowley were searched for weapons. 

Then they entered.

And the doors shut behind them with an ominous groan.

Aziraphale watched as the guards took their places in the darkest corner of the vast and exaggerated room. He felt his palms grow cold and clammy when he noticed at least six other guards were lining the walls. 

"Like the decor?" Satan asked with a quirk of his brow.

The style was clearly medieval. Most likely--

"The fourteenth century!" Satan announced proudly as he dragged his hand over the rich wood of a canopied bench facing the gargantuan fireplace. "It was my favourite vacation trip to Earth. Longest I ever stayed."

_Well, that explains a lot._ He fought the urge to look at Crowley. "It's as if I've stepped back through time, sire," Aziraphale replied with a cautious glance around the room.

"But do you like it?" Satan's tone was cold.

Aziraphale snapped his gaze to his Lord, just below his eyes, and gave a slight bow. "I must be honest, it brings back some ghastly memories, but everything here has been expertly arranged. I like the wood and tapestries in particular. So, I suppose the answer is both a yes and a no." 

The silence was all there was until Aziraphale raised his gaze tentatively to Satan's. He was thoroughly scrutinised, and he offered an apologetic smile in case he had offended the prideful demon. Aziraphale almost sighed with relief when Satan waved dismissively and chuckled.

"I suppose that was a harrowing era for you being a Principality at the time."

"You certainly didn't make my job any easier." He tried for a casual and joking tone. It seemed to work because Satan laughed openly and beckoned him to sit near the fire. 

"No, I guess not!" Satan sniggered. When Aziraphale was about to lead Crowley to sit, Satan nearly hissed a command, and the merriment was over. "No!" 

Aziraphale could not help a small flinch, and he cursed himself silently. 

"He can stand," Satan ordered coldly.

Reluctantly, Aziraphale released Crowley but not before caressing his hand discreetly with his thumb. "Of course, my Lord, my mistake."

The prince sat in the chair beside him and gave his undivided attention to the bipolar monster sitting before him. Had anyone walked in at that moment, no one would have guessed that there had been a severe and sudden outburst. Satan seemed contemplative and almost serene.

Satan was still staring at Crowley when he addressed Aziraphale again. "Any progress with his state?"

The room started to feel just a tad bit smaller than it actually was. With a sigh, Aziraphale tried his best to answer. "There are times I think, or at least I hope that he'll make a full recovery." He thought about Crowley's vacant eyes and the sorrow that overwhelmed him when he could not find his lover in his gaze. What had been done to Crowley, though they never spoke of it, was beyond fixing entirely. "Then I look into his eyes," his voice trembled, "and I know he's not really there and I fear he'll never be the same again," he finished with a broken whisper.

When Aziraphale braved to look at Satan's reaction, he found his eyes still trained on Crowley with an annoyed sneer on his face. "Pity." 

Satan snapped his fingers, and a slave rushed in from seemingly out of nowhere to serve them wine, then scurried into a dark corner where he could barely be seen. Aziraphale wondered just how many were hidden in the room.

"How is my son fairing with his education?"

"Very well, my Lord. He is an astute pupil and very eager to learn. I sent you a list of his reading materials at the--"

"Yes, yes," Satan muttered dryly. "All acceptable. I trust your judgement on those matters."

The surprise could not be held back as Aziraphale's eyes widened. "You do?"

Satan gave him a curious once-over. He sent a fleeting glare at Crowley, and then he smiled pointedly at Aziraphale. "Of course, I do. If I didn't, I would not have allowed the _leniency_ I have granted you. Or the _gift_ I gave you." 

So, Satan believed he was giving Aziraphale some sort of special treatment. That he trusted him with his son's education. Given him a gift. Was this his twisted way of wooing him? If it was, then most assuredly Lucifer had to be sensible enough to know his methods were barbarous and not at all expected to get him the results he desired. If he even wanted Aziraphale to reciprocate at all.

"Indeed. I am eternally grateful," Aziraphale murmured with an obvious bow in his seat. "I am merely surprised because I feel like I do not deserve your trust."

Satan scoffed. "See that you do deserve it, Azirath. See that you do." It was a clear warning, and there was no way in Heaven or Hell that Satan actually trusted him at all. 

The Devil shifted in his seat and crossed his legs as he took a sip of his wine. "He seems more amicable towards you now. After the first council meeting, Adam was quite discouraged and angry with you. Did you know?"

"I had a feeling he might be, yes," Aziraphale acknowledged.

Satan nodded. "I spoke with him that evening after I left you in your own sick." He looked pleased that Aziraphale appeared ashamed at the mention of that night. "I told him that you were merely trying to keep everyone happy. Compromises are key to leading successfully. I explained that he was going to get exactly what he wanted. More humans. Less suffering. And you did that for him without causing a mutiny." He drank from his glass again and winked at the prince. "So, you have me to thank that you are back in his good books, so to speak." 

"Well," Aziraphale sighed, "I appreciate that, sire."

"Lucifer."

There was a brief moment where one could hear a pin drop before Aziraphale whispered. "Sorry?"

"You may call me Lucifer here," he reiterated casually. "Never outside my private quarters, mind you." He shrugged and pointed at his guest. "You and I, we understand each other."

_Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit! Crowley was right. No. No. No proof yet. That's not proof. Calm. Down._

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I would never presume--" He lost his voice and took a sip of wine to fortify him. Thankfully, Satan continued for him.

"See, I have an inkling that your example and tutelage has brought Adam closer to understanding me as well. Not sure how much yet. Azirath, you've had more influence over my son than I have." 

Lucifer's tone was both envious and praising, as if he couldn't decide which he felt most. Depending on the one he landed on would probably determine what Aziraphale and Crowley's fate would be. 

"I, well, erm--"

"Have you had him yet?" The Devil nodded toward Crowley, nonchalant as if he asking about the weather.

It was such a sudden change of topic that Aziraphale almost felt the room spin. There he was, off-balance again, but he'd practised. So, it was with a pleasant surprise that a blush came unbidden and Aziraphale allowed it to be noticed. 

Aziraphale didn't have to answer for Satan to know, but he responded anyway because he knew that is what Satan would push. He'd want him squirming, vulnerable, and weak. "Yes," he said, barely audible with a look of disgust that surely Lucifer would misinterpret for shame.

Satan laughed and raised his glass. "Well, cheers! No wonder you seem more at ease. To be honest, I wasn't sure you had it in you, but you really have become so depraved, haven't you?"

How he hated the despicable mongrel, but he took in a shaky breath and looked at the ground. "I suppose one cannot escape their true nature," he replied quietly. 

Lucifer set his glass down, stood up and walked toward them until he was standing an arms-length from Crowley. Aziraphale's hate was immediately exchanged for pure dread. "Whatever do you see in him, I wonder?" 

Satan lifted his hand and reached for Crowley's braid, and Aziraphale had to set his wine down before he shattered it in his ever tensing grip. Was the room getting smaller? "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say." He didn't mean to sound so agitated.

"Well, I'm very curious about beholding from your perspective." Satan raised his hand higher and traced Crowley's jawline with a talon.

_This is not supposed to happen_, Aziraphale thought frantically. He could barely control his breathing as he stared unblinkingly at the nightmare unfolding right in front of him. Calm down. Calm down. He's trying to out us both. It's just a game. A game he detested and was losing his whole composure over.

"My Lord," Aziraphale uttered a bit weakly, "I'm not sure what you mean... by that." But he did know. He knew, without a doubt.

"I mean," Lucifer murmured sensually as he grazed a thumb over Crowley’s lips, "I'd like to know first hand why this weak, pathetic excuse of a demon has such a hold over you."

The room definitely felt like it was shrinking, and the dark corners were getting closer, bringing the demon guards with them. Aziraphale watched in horror as Satan drew closer to his beloved and placed his evil hands upon Crowley's waist. He barely swallowed a whimper, and his hands were shaking in earnest. He was going to break. Aziraphale was grasping at his rationale as if trying to catch smoke. They had prepared for everything, except this. Not like it had not crossed his mind fleetingly. He just didn't want to believe it could ever be something Satan would resort to. Would he ever stop being so stupid? Satan was a monster. 

"Please," he whispered.

The fire was dimming, the darkness was drawing nearer, and Aziraphale felt as if it would snatch him by the throat and snuff out whatever hope he had left. It would kill him. 

The monster hummed approvingly. "He has a sort of sensual appeal, I suppose. Some feminine qualities. I like that." Slowly, Satan let his claws dip into the hem of Crowley’s trousers. “Thin and, dare I say it, graceful in a way.”

With a jerk, Crowley was pressed to his body, his lips on Crowley's lips.

Without even knowing what he was doing, Aziraphale launched to his feet, but there were guards already holding him before he could advance. "Don't! Please! Let him go!" 

His begging was pathetic, coming out shrill and broken. The longer Satan touched his beloved, the more helpless he felt. And his hands were roaming everywhere under Crowley’s shirt, leaving red streaks on his pale and soft skin. Aziraphale nearly passed out when the monster brushed his lips over Crowley’s mouth while one of his hands cupped between Crowley’s legs.

“Hmm,” Satan hummed a bit surprised, “I didn’t expect a cock.” He shrugged and smirked. “It’ll do, I suppose. What soft lips. I think I can see why you couldn’t resist, Azirath.”

Crowley was in danger, and they were surrounded. That much, his frazzled brain understood. Aziraphale could not think straight with all the alarm bells going off at once in his mind. He was shaking and vaguely hearing himself screaming and pleading for mercy as he watched Satan drag his love away to an open door in the room.

Crowley wasn't fighting. Crowley wasn't crying. Crowley was going to let this happen. And what other choice was there? Aziraphale had promised Crowley, swore to him, that he’d never let anyone hurt him. That he’d risk destruction before letting anyone separate them ever again. And so, it was with genuine relief and hope that another option burned bright in his mind.

"ME!" Aziraphale screamed through his wrenching sobs before the idea was fully formed. He stopped trying to fight off the demons pinning his face flush to the ground.

Satan stopped just under the door frame.

And smiled.

"Say again, dear prince?" Lucifer called while cupping his ear with his hand. "I'm not sure I heard correctly over your pitiful weeping."

Aziraphale's chest was too constricted to answer right away. After a few moments, through his wheezing, he was able to form three words.

"Take me instead..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. A cliffhanger. Told you not to get too comfortable!
> 
> ::sigh:: This was hard to write but the next chapter was even more difficult. Prepare!
> 
> THANK YOU for all the comments. And oh-my-goodness, I swoon whenever any of you say you've shared this story with your mutuals! Thank you for that! The interaction from this story has been THE BEST.
> 
> Stay tuned! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr and IG @mordellestories


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I posting so soon? Because I don't think I'll be posting on Monday. On Monday, my partner Tim will be making a life-changing phone call. At least we hope it will be life-changing. So, I feel a bit paralysed and stressed. What can I control? Posting a chapter, that's what! So here it is!
> 
> The warnings continue, my friends!
> 
> Thank you betas for getting through these tougher chapters, Azeran and Tim!
> 
> Thank you everyone who has commented and reached out! There is fanart by OwlVirus! I'll put a link in the endnotes.
> 
> ***WARNING: Graphic Violence, death, non-con stuff, psychological torture.***

If there was only one thing that Satan knew how to do extraordinarily well, it was torture. It was not that it hadn't occurred to Crowley that Satan might stoop this low to coax him out of his farce. It had. It was just that Crowley did not have the heart to prepare Aziraphale for it. Now he wished he had. And his angel's sobs and screams were the worst Hellish torture he'd ever experienced. 

The worst part was not being able to tell his lover that this was fine. This was okay. He'd endure it for their safety, heck, he wasn't even feeling a blessed thing! He'd dive into his imagination and barely be present for the act. Not that it wouldn't be traumatizing anyway, but if Aziraphale kept suffering the way that he was, then Crowley's control over not ripping Lucifer's horns from his crown and stabbing him in the eyes with them was going to ebb away very quickly.

He'd be sullied, he knew. Stained after keeping such care over his body so that it would only belong to Aziraphale forever and always. The angel didn't need to know that, especially after tonight. It was depressing, is what it was. It made Crowley furious and watching the demons pin his angel to the ground, with a boot on his cheek, was going to drive Crowley to murder. Wasn't his acquiescence to all of this enough for his beloved to understand he'd be fine. He'd be okay. If it meant living another day together.

Apparently not. Those three words that had erupted out of Aziraphale's tortured lips might as well have killed Crowley right then and there. 

_ No! Fool! What have you done?! What have you done?! _

Crowley's mind continued to curse and yell that he almost didn't hear what was said next.

"Louder so that your beloved can hear you through whatever veil he's hiding behind," Lucifer commanded.

"TAKE ME INSTEAD, YOU FUCKING MONSTER!" Aziraphale roared. 

_ Oh, for fuck's sake, Aziraphale! _For a dreadful moment, Crowley wondered if he'd kill Aziraphale right then for his blatant audacity. 

Satan did appear taken aback, and he blinked exaggeratedly before chuckling with disbelief. He looked at Crowley. "Did you hear that, Crowley? The pot calling the kettle black." He brought his wicked gaze back to Aziraphale, who still had a demon's boot crushing his face to the cold, stone floor. "I'm going to give you a free pass on that one, Azirath. After all, you're under a well of distress, I imagine. See? You asked for mercy. There it is. And that's all you'll get from me." 

The Deceiver motioned to his guards who simultaneously released Aziraphale and led Crowley to a chair where he was forced to sit. The surrounding demon's held him down like he might jump up at any moment and attack. Still, Crowley’s form was unphased. 

Satan's boots landed before Aziraphale. "Get up."

With trembling limbs, Aziraphale slowly stood up. When he was as steady as he was going to get, Satan circled behind him, bringing one hand to his waist and the other under his chin. He forced Aziraphale's gaze to where Crowley sat and brought his mouth to his ear. 

"I have an idea," Lucifer murmured, "we don't have to go to my bed at all. There's so much we can do right here, in front of him."

"No," Aziraphale begged, "please not-not in--" his words were cut when Satan pinched his cheeks together and forcing a brutal and painful kiss to his open mouth. 

Though Crowley's body was unchanging, his being swirled in his brain like a raging cyclone. His rage only swelled when a trail of blood dripped down from Aziraphale's lips to his chin.

Satan looked to Crowley and sneered. "That was lovely. But look, Azirath, he hasn't come to your rescue. Isn't that what he's always done? At the flood? At the crucifixion? At the Bastille? Even charged onto sacred ground for you."

Crowley was losing his bloody mind. He had to think. He had to think. He had to fucking think of something but what? What could he do? He was already restrained. A miracle would be useless. Aziraphale was already in Satan's claws, literally. They'd be discorporated for sure, and after that, they'd be at Hell's mercy. And Hell had no mercy. They would be separated or forced to watch each other's torture. No hope for destruction because Satan would never make it that easy. Was the only choice available really to sit there and watch his angel be raped?!

Satan dragged the hand that was on Aziraphale's waist down, slowly working to undo his belt. When Aziraphale struggled, he dug his talons in his throat, cutting off his air and breaking the skin.

"Why doesn't he save you now, I wonder?" Satan questioned, with his eyes locked on Crowley's. "Maybe he loved the angel and can't stand to look at the demon, let alone love him."

The belt was unbuckled, and then he went for the button.

"Is that it, Crowley?" Satan taunted. "You don't love him anymore? He's turned into a vile creature, hasn't he? Too vile for your all too soft heart." 

The fastener on Aziraphale's trousers was next. He dragged it down slowly and gently, the zipping sound drilling holes into Crowley's heart.

Aziraphale, his eyes were bleeding, his swollen lips were bleeding, and Crowley knew the blood would not stop there. But Aziraphale held a determined expression on his beautiful face, streaked with blood. Although Crowley could not see his irises, he knew Aziraphale was pointedly looking at him. And then Aziraphale gave him a curt nod. It was meant to encourage or tell him it was okay.

"I don't want him to see this," Aziraphale croaked, "please. I beg you."

It was meant for Crowley, not Satan, he knew that. Aziraphale wanted him to float off into the clouds of his mind and turn away from it all.

Satan smirked, still looking at Crowley. "If he really is off with the fairies, then Crowley won't see a thing. But I have a hunch he's watching us right now. He just doesn't want you anymore... _ Aziraphale _." He'd said his name like a lover would, then dragged his tongue from his victim's jaw to his ear, tasting the bloody tears as he did. "But I want you, Aziraphale," he murmured sweetly into his ear. "You're my prince. My demon. And I want all my demons to thrive. But that can't happen if your loyalties lie elsewhere. So, tell me, Aziraphale, who do you belong to?"

To Crowley's horror, Satan tugged on Aziraphale's trousers until they were at mid-thigh and began to pull on the hem of his pants.

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath and seemed like he was going to respond, but nothing came out. Satan squeezed tighter at his throat, and more blood streamed freely downward.

"Y-you," Aziraphale barely managed.

"And who am I?" Satan let up on his grip so that he could answer. 

"Satan."

"No. I asked you to call me something else. Who do you belong to? A complete sentence would be nice."

".... I belong to you... Lucifer."

"Lovely. And what am I to you?"

Aziraphale took in two heaving breaths. "My God."

"Oh, you," Satan chuckled, "music to my ears. Maybe I'll let you enjoy what I'm going to do to you now as a reward."

Aziraphale made the most pitiful face and whimpered, like that was the most terrifying thing that Satan could do. It was clear he wanted the experience to be painful and harsh if he had to endure it. Anything so that his body would not respond.

With sudden force, Satan shoved Aziraphale down to all fours, a loud _ crack _ and a choked cry of pain coming from his victim. "This is all on you, Jophiel," Satan jeered. "Come out now, and I'll spare him." 

Crowley was about to erupt. This could not stand.

Satan lowered himself to the ground and began to undo his trousers, all the while boring holes into Crowley with a smile. When Satan tugged on Aziraphale's pants while at the same time exposing himself and thrusting forward--

\--Crowley took a hissing breath and at the same time--

_ BANG! BANG! BANG! _

Everyone in the room froze as the ground began to tremble from what seemed to be explosions. Satan righted himself with a snap and shot to standing. The door to his parlour burst open, and Beelzebub charged inside.

The demon prince rushed to their Lord's side and didn't even acknowledge what was happening in the room or that Aziraphale was clamouring to right his clothes. "The rebels, my Lord! We're being attacked!"

"How?!" Satan boomed. 

"There are demons among them, they've infiltrated us," Beelzebub replied. "They're in the castle."

Satan roared with fury. "See to my son! Then join me in battle." With a wave of his hand, he was armed. "You four," he pointed to some guards, “take these fools to a cell."

With that, Lucifer stormed out of the room with Beelzebub and his guards in tow, save for the four who were already hauling Aziraphale and Crowley to their feet. 

All of the pent up rage was not finished boiling to the surface and Crowley could contain it no more. Two against four were okay odds in his book. When one of the guards behind him pushed, Crowley bent over using leverage to toss him across the room.

Aziraphale was quick to react as well and sprouted his wings to launch the demons from his sides. For a brief moment, Crowley was shocked to see that they were still white. Or were they? He couldn't tell because as soon as they had appeared, Aziraphale put them away. Crowley tried a miracle but came up empty.

"We can't perform miracles in here, Aziraphale."

"So, I've noticed," Aziraphale replied, voice hoarse almost beyond recognition. 

The guards surrounded them, pushing them back to back to the centre of the room. The demons snarled and gritted their teeth, lifting their weapons. 

Crowley snatched Aziraphale's hand and squeezed it. "If this all goes pear-shaped, I want you to know--"

"Don't."

"I love you, and I'm so--"

An enormous, black cloud of flies burst into the room and covered the guard's faces. They yelled and swatted, but once their mouths were open, the flies took advantage and invaded. The demon's cries became choked gags as they fell to their knees. Only two were left standing, but that was remedied when Beelzebub took a mace to both their heads in two, fluid movements. 

Crowley and Aziraphale stood there, dumbfounded.

"Are you two going to gawk all day or escape while you still can?!" Beelzebub hissed. They turned on their heel and ran out of the room.

Hands still locked together, Aziraphale pulled Crowley into a sprint toward the exit. They ran after Beelzebub who only stopped when they reached Adam at the end of the hall. The four of them huddled together, keeping an eye out for enemies.

"We can't miracle ourselves out from this wing," Adam explained. "Satan's rigged it that way."

"The East gate is rubble now," Beelzebub whispered. "Leave that way. Go right here and fly out of the first window you see. Once you pass the gate, you should be able to draw power again. Go through the tunnels, Aziraphale, and keep going."

Aziraphale nodded once and took off, dragging Crowley with him.

"Wait!" Adam nearly yelled. 

The lovers turned briefly to see that Beelzebub was pulling Adam by the collar.

"I'm coming with you!" Adam cried.

"They Heaven you are!" Beelzebub growled.

Crowley was pulled again by Aziraphale but rooted his feet to the ground. "He can come with us!"

"No!" 

"No!" 

The princes yelled in unison.

"Why?!" Adam stretched an arm toward Crowley and clawed the air. "Please take me with you!" He cried in earnest, tears streaming down his face. "Don't leave me, please."

"Let's go, Crowley!" Aziraphale tugged harder.

Beelzebub wrapped an arm around Adam's neck. "I'm not going to suffer your father's punishments for losing you, brat! You're staying with me."

"No!" Adam whined, still desperately reaching for Crowley.

Crowley was torn but knew that Beelzebub was right. They'd be punished, and the rebels would suffer their loss. "It's alright, Adam. You can help Beelzebub from the inside."

"No!"

"I'm sorry," Crowley let out with a grimace, "we'll meet again, I promise! We will win this war!" He turned away from his student and ran.

Not a word was exchanged as they rushed through the hall together. The corridor was getting narrow, and an opening in the far wall was finally in sight. They charged for it when someone abruptly intercepted them.

"I _ knew _ it!" Yelled Hastur with a grin. "Wait until I- what--"

They didn't slow, and Hastur had no time to prepare before they clotheslined him with their linked hands.

Three demons surged through the crumbling wall and plummeted toward the castle grounds. Aziraphale was the first to let out his wings.

Crowley hung in the air for a moment and saw Hastur bring forth his wings as well. They were a moulted, greasy mess of feathers, and he was flying up for them. 

"Let go, angel!" Aziraphale dropped Crowley who hurled straight for Hastur. "Geronimooooo!" 

Hastur was grinning and not intending to lose the game of chicken that Crowley had started. But Crowley's smile was wider, and his eyes were crazed, and - was he laughing? It was time to decide, and he would _ not _ chicken out! Okay, he chickened out, and Crowley dropped right past him clucking like a hen. 

Hastur cast a glance down to see Crowley flying up for him, but he was too far. He'd get Azirath before Crowley could reach him.

"So long, suck-ah!" Hastur shouted at him, finally able to throw that back in Crowley's face. The last thing he saw was a white blur before--

Wrath was still etched on his angel's face well after he had kicked Hastur's head clean off his shoulders. 

"Holy _ shit _ , angel! That was fucking _ glorious _!" Crowley sent a brilliant smile toward his lover who rolled his eyes and barely suppressed a smirk. "How about you and me blow this Popsicle stand?"

"I'd rather we leave here immediately!"

Crowley barked out a laugh. "Lead the way!"

There was clearly a skirmish going on toward the north side of the castle, but it did not seem like a full-on attack. In fact, Crowley thought he heard a retreat, but he and Aziraphale were in the clear, the smog obscuring them from sight. Once they were far enough away, Aziraphale turned and opened his arms. Crowley put away his wings, and as soon as Aziraphale caught him, there was a rush, and they were back home.

There was no time to chat or plan. Aziraphale fled, and Crowley followed on his heels. Once they reached the bedroom with the secret entrance, Aziraphale placed a burning hand on a spot on the wall. He burned a hole through the wall, revealing a safe, opened it, and removed its contents. Then he dashed to the foot of the bed and activated the entrance. 

Scarlet slithered into the room quickly and coiled around her master's neck without Aziraphale batting an eye. As soon as she was settled, she merged with her master.

"Grab the torch," Aziraphale rasped as the opening began to appear. "No miracles until we get well enough away. Perhaps not even then."

Crowley dashed to the nightstand and snatched up the flashlight. They rushed down the stairs and closed the entrance behind them. They were in the pitch dark, panting before Crowley lit the space. For a moment, the two merely stared at one another through the light of the torch pointing to the ceiling. After a few more gasps, they lunged at each other and sobbed with relief and agony at the same time and spoke over each other.

"I should have done something," Crowley cried, "I was going to--"

"Worse would have happened if you had--"

"I'm so sorry, angel--"

"I couldn't let him do it to you. Not you--"

"I love you." 

"I love you." 

They ended simultaneously. 

They wiped at each other's tears and took calming breaths, both hesitant to initiate a kiss for fear of tainting the other. Eventually, their quivering lips did lock ever so gently, Crowley mindful of his angel’s broken lip. When they parted, Aziraphale took the torch in one hand and Crowley's hand in the other.

"This way," Aziraphale whispered and walked them through the archway. 

When they were about halfway before a turn, Aziraphale shined the light on the wall until he found a lever and pulled it. A rumbling was heard, and the passage behind them collapsed. They didn't wait for the dust to settle, but their steps were not too hurried.

"Where are we going?" Crowley whispered because it just seemed like the right thing to do.

Aziraphale sighed. "I don't know," he replied quietly above a murmur himself. "I've never gone this far. The guides are supposed to lead the humans to the sanctuary. Perhaps that's where this will lead."

"But I thought we weren't allowed there. Consecrated ground and all that."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Who knows if that was true. We won't know for sure until we get... well, somewhere."

They continued to walk with more confidence, never letting their hands go. Aziraphale would sometimes squeeze Crowley's hand, and Crowley would respond by brushing his lips to Azirphale's knuckles. They never stopped. It had to have been at least half a day before they came to a large cavern with four different paths. 

"Bugger all," Crowley muttered.

"Quite," Aziraphale agreed. 

Crowley threw his arm over his angel's shoulder. "Well, what the Heaven do we do now?" 

"Wait, I suppose." But he didn't seem sure.

After a few moments, they heard footsteps. They looked around frantically, pointing the torch in every direction until it shone on a figure walking towards them from the third path.

The trespasser blocked their face from the light. "Jeez! Trying to blind a guy or what?" The figure emerged, removed his hand, and gave a wave of his fingers. "Hiya, boys!" Gabriel greeted with a cheerful smile. "Heard you got yourselves into a pickle."

The demons eyed each other and groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [CLICK HERE to see FANART of AZIRATH by OWLVIRUS!](https://www.deviantart.com/owlvirus/art/Demon-Aziraphale-820380143)
> 
> He's absolutely perfect! Thanks again OwlVirus!!
> 
> I know these past two chapters are tame compared to A LOT of stuff out there, but it was very difficult to write. Probably the hardest thing I've written. I'm sure I'll push more boundaries for myself as a writer but I don't think I could ever write a full-on, detailed rape scene. I just don't think it's necessary. It's not my thing. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you thought of the chapter! Thanks again for being so awesome. I don't want to say that I live for your comments at this point buuuuuut... I kinda do. lol
> 
> Have a great weekend!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that news I talked about? Great news everyone! My partner landed a great job with a great company! We are moving to Las Vegas!
> 
> Although I'm not particularly thrilled to be moving to Sin City (THE HEAT OMG KILL ME), I'm super excited despite that! This is a huge step for us as a family! Thanks for all the well wishes!
> 
> Okay, here we gooooo!
> 
> Thank you my lovely beta's Azeran and Tim!
> 
> The Sanctuary art is by my partner, Tim! Just a bunch of images photoshopped together, it looks incredible!
> 
> Thank YOU for all the kudos, comments, and messages! You're the main reason this fic is getting my full attention. When the inspiration dwindles, you all give me the boost I need to keep going!

War had always been a last resort in all of Gabriel's plans. And now, because of the two clowns and his own foolish heart, there may not be an alternative. He prayed there was. He didn't want history repeating itself. After he had pushed for war twice and failed just as many times, Gabriel knew there had to be a lesson in there somewhere that God was trying to rub in his face. He just could not figure out what it was supposed to be. 

Surely his test was to avoid war at all cost, right? His lesson had to be that war was not the answer to every solution. It was peace. But how does one attain peace when there is so much suffering in the world? Obviously, Satan would not go down without a fight. That was certain. So, Gabriel decided that his focus was just to cut off the head and work from there. Azirath had been the one chosen for the job. Well, that went tits-up, and one would think that having Azirath, Crowley, Beelzebub, and the fucking Antichrist on the inside, that it would be easy enough to dispatch Lucifer - but no.

After all the work he put into the sanctuary to be able to harbour demons as well, to entice Azirath and Crowley to work on their side! All wasted.

_ No, _ Gabriel chided himself, _ not wasted. It's the right thing to do. I keep fucking up, but this has to be right. It has to be. _

Maybe he was getting the gist of his lesson after all. Actions driven just to gain something led to ruin, or so they had so far. Actions spurred by kindness and love, regardless of gain, _ may yet lead to success. _

Gabriel acknowledged that he and Beelzebub had wronged Azirath. They kept Crowley's secret because it benefited their cause. _ And look what happened, two inside men down. _ If he was fighting for the side of right, then he had to do the right thing, even if it seemed like a bad idea. _ How strange. _

It was with that conviction that led him to speed up some of his plans when Beelzebub sent the message that Azirath and Crowley were in terrible danger.

**Dove and worm for supper. **

At the moment he read the message, Gabriel felt a strong sense of Holy Righteousness. It was a sensation he had not felt since his early days as an Archangel. This was clearly wrong! He had to do something to save them. He hoped it was Her, showing him the way. So, with a booming Vengeful voice, he ordered the attack on the castle. The charge was not supposed to happen for several months out, to be used as a diversion to send supplies to other camps. Now it served two purposes — a diversion for a large delivery, and a diversion for Azirath and Crowley to escape.

So, it was with great annoyance that Gabriel found the demon companions groaning with contempt in his presence like two ungrateful little shits. He was about to give them a piece of his mind when he suddenly saw the state they were in.

They were a mess. Crowley seemed to be the one in better shape, but his clothes were dusty and dishevelled, his hair that wasn't still in a braid seemed close to standing on ends, bruises and scratches. And Azirath! Azirath was in a similar state but covered in dry blood.

"Whoa," Gabriel uttered while brightening the small ball of light he summoned to get a better look. "Looks like we got you out right in time..." 

"You ordered the attack to get us out?" Crowley asked.

Gabriel nodded and gave them another once over. "It was planned for much later and for another purpose," he admitted, "but Beelzebub reached out on your behalf."

"Why," Azirath croaked, voice hardly recognizable and impeded by his swollen lip.

Gabriel shrugged and stepped forward. "Because it was the right thing to do." Crowley and Azirath exchanged dubious looks. Gabriel didn't blame them. "Guilt probably had something to do with it too." He smirked, trying to lighten the mood. It did not work.

"Gabriel grows a conscience," Azirath scoffed, "who'd have thought it possible?"

"Yeah," Gabriel nodded, "there is much to learn from humans. You were right about them, Azirath. And I owe you an apology as well."

"Don't expect forgiveness from me," Azirath hissed.

"Of course not," Gabriel raised his hands in surrender, "but I'm sorry for everything anyway. The way I've treated you. The secrets. All of it."

Azirath looked away and seethed in place, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. 

The archangel sighed, raised his right hand and stepped toward Azirath who flinched and jumped back, ready to throw fists. "I can heal your wounds," Gabriel offered gently.

The only response Azirath gave was a slight turn away from Gabriel and into Crowley's side. He clung to his lover's jacket, who wrapped a protective arm around his waist.

The feeling of love flowing between the demons at that moment was so tender that it left Gabriel staring with his jaw slack in surprise. He was also shocked to find that he felt a hint of jealousy and sadness within himself. When a stoic face of a particular demon came to mind, Gabriel shook himself to rid the vision. There was no time to dwell on that subject. Not now. Still, a small flame of hope took hold in his heart, and he wondered if they demons would be amiable enough to talk to about his dilemma at some point.

"Alright," Crowley chimed in, "you taking us somewhere or what?"

Gabriel nodded and motioned to the path he came from. "Follow me."

The archangel knew he probably wouldn't get another chance to get into Azirath's good graces, so he took advantage of the fact that they would be stuck in close confines for a lengthy amount of time. One of them was bound to start a conversation, so he waited. He was rewarded quickly when Crowley spoke first.

"Where are we going?" Crowley asked.

"The sanctuary," Gabriel replied.

Azirath scoffed. "You mean the same sanctuary you told us was forbidden to us? The one on consecrated ground? That sanctuary?"

"Yes, Azirath, that same one. When you stopped being our double agent, we wanted to give you incentive to stay loyal to us. Since then, we've been building deeper into the caverns and leaving them neutral. Nowhere near finished yet, but it has enough room for a few hundred demons. And, boy, am I glad we started a month ago. Things seem to be going a bit quicker than we had planned."

"Why do you need that much room? A prison or something?" Crowley pressed.

"No, no," Gabriel waved away the comment. "We've recruited more demons for our cause, and Beelzebub expects quite a number more to defect. Just planning ahead for if or when they'll need refuge."

Azirath sneered and chuckled mirthlessly. "Angels giving refuge to the damned. And I thought I'd seen it all."

"A lot has changed..." Crowley muttered.

"Yes, it has," Gabriel agreed. "And more change to come!" He held a fist in the air and shook it vigorously. "If I'm lucky, you'll be part of helping bring those changes about."

"What?"

"Pardon?"

The demons exclaimed in unison.

Gabriel laughed easily, turned and walked backwards as he clarified. "The two of you know more about humans, the Earth's history, and peace than everyone put together. Time to recognize and utilize that." He smiled genuinely, winked, and turned to face forward again.

The demons were baffled, and Azirath could not hold back his cynicism. "You'd take advice from demons? From me? A murderer? The one who destroyed your peer and colleague? I find that hard to believe."

At the mention of Michael, Gabriel stopped and slowly faced the demons again. His expression was grave and remorseful. 

"Michael's fate is regrettable," Gabriel said sadly, "but they chose to go rogue and you did what you had to do to further our cause. A cause they did not believe in. We can't afford to dwell on regrets." Gabriel stepped forward into Azirath's personal space. "Yes, Azirath, I would take your advice if you're willing to give it. Willing to make a better world."

"Even though I've made bad decisions?" Azirath asked quietly, no bitterness, no bite to his words at all. 

Gabriel narrowed his eyes and took a quick breath. "The difference between you and me is that you seem to know _ when _ you're making a bad decision _ before _ you make it. I think you always have." He smirked. "From the moment you gave away that flaming sword, I suspect." He turned and continued down the path once more. "And that is a useful skill that I've obviously yet to master," he grumbled with envy.

They walked on in silence for a long time after that. Crowley, for one, was impressed with Gabriel, if not at least pleasantly bemused. For the git to admit his flaws and ask for forgiveness was no easy feat, at least for Crowley it wasn't. It was something he'd have to get used to doing if he was going to be a real partner for Aziraphale. True, his angel already knew his flaws and his underhanded way of apologizing, but he wanted to be better than that. Aziraphale deserved it, and he had much to atone for yet.

Crowley was brought out his thoughts when he noticed that Aziraphale's pace had slowed and he seemed like he was limping. 

"You all right, angel?"

Aziraphale merely nodded and picked up the pace, but it wasn't long before Gabriel was once again several paces ahead. When Aziraphale's leg gave out beneath him, he bit down a cry of pain.

Crowley knelt by his side. "What's wrong?"

Aziraphale panted and refused to look Crowley in the eye. "I just need a bit of rest." Before he could stop him, Crowley was pulling up his trousers on one leg and hissed with anger.

"Your knee!"

Gabriel stopped and walked back. "What's up - oh, God! Oh, that's, that's gotta hurt." He winced.

Aziraphale glared up at the prat then got a better look at his injury. It was awful. His knee was black, blue, and swollen, and a bone was trying to pierce through the skin. His other leg didn't feel any better. The memory of being forced to his knees came unbidden, and he couldn't help but sob out in pain and humiliation. 

"Aziraphale," Crowley pleaded and held him, "swallow your pride, would you?" He whispered. "For me."

The demon prince sighed. The last thing he wanted was to be indebted to Gabriel of all people, but he was in pain, and he was exhausted. Without working his own miracle, he'd deplete his energy and succumb to however his body was going to deal with his wounds. Aziraphale nodded curtly in Gabriel's direction, and the archangel knelt before him.

"I'll just heal the large wounds. Can't be too careful throwing power around, but we should be okay," Gabriel explained. 

With a slow pass of Gabriel's hands over Aziraphale's legs, the injuries vanished with a few pops that left the demon panting and groaning but healed. 

When Gabriel finished with his swollen lip, he beckoned with a curl of his hand. "Your wing." 

With a sigh, Aziraphale conceded and unfurled his injured wing. A deep gash ran down his scapular that Gabriel treated quickly as well.

Crowley marvelled at the colour once more with a deeper appreciation. "They're still white."

"Grey," Aziraphale corrected dryly. 

"Look white to me. Maybe not _ angelic _ white..." Gabriel amended. "It's why his code name is Dove!" Gabriel explained cheerfully. "The red eyes, white- _ ish _ wings."

Crowley helped his lover to stand and smiled in awe. "How did you manage that colour, angel? The wings I've seen on demons have all been one shade of black or another." He noticed that Gabriel seemed intrigued to know the answer, as well.

"He won't say," Gabriel said finally when Aziraphale merely shrugged. "Can't say I'm not curious, but whatever. C'mon! Still a long way to go!"

With Aziraphale healed, they marched faster.

"Do I get a code name?" Crowley asked excitedly. "Let me guess, Snake! Serpent! No, no, Father of Sin!"

"Worm," Gabriel replied dryly. 

Aziraphale couldn't help a snort and tried to cover it up quickly, but Crowley was already glaring at him. 

"I'm changing it," Crowley announced.

"Can't," Gabriel retorted. 

Crowley frowned. "Well, it's better than Flower! How'd you get stuck with that one?"

This time Gabriel was silent, and Aziraphale snickered, sending an evil smirk in Crowley's direction. "His little _ Bug _ named him."

Crowley smiled wickedly. "Oooo," he taunted, remembering that Gabriel had called the prince of Hell by the cute little nickname. "Too bad Beelzebub's code name isn't Bee." He elbowed Aziraphale and waggled his eyebrows. "Saw what I did there?"

"I don't get it," Gabriel muttered.

Aziraphale chuckled with genuine mirth even though it was brief. It was progress, Crowley thought. He wouldn't delude himself into thinking their most recent dealings with Satan would just be overlooked. Crowley was trying with all his might not to dwell on what had happened, but the more the adrenaline purged itself from his body, the more frequent those fresh memories came. Aziraphale had received the brunt of it, and he was not going to let his angel suffer alone or in silence. As soon as they reached the sanctuary, he'd care for his lover in any way he could. For the meantime, Crowley held Aziraphale's hand and hoped it was enough.

Gabriel kept up the conversation, filling them in on what awaited them at the sanctuary and about future plans. For the most part, Aziraphale stayed quiet and contemplative while Crowley asked a zillion questions. Soon enough, they came upon another larger chamber with several openings.

"Demon entrance this way!" Gabriel led them through a labyrinth until they passed through a ward that seemed to keep light and sound trapped within. 

Once they crossed the threshold, Crowley and Aziraphale's jaws dropped.

"My word," Aziraphale whispered in awe.

"This is... unexpected," Crowley added.

The cavern was vast, several stories leading up and down as wide as it was deep. Hundreds of thousands of orbs made of light were spread out and illuminating the space. There was no doubt that the little, ant-like creatures who seemed to be crawling all over were actually humans going about their business. Trees, canopies, waterfalls, farms, animals, birds, everything was alive and in constant flow and every space was put to use.

Gabriel beamed proudly, and he laughed at the complete shock that had taken over the demon's expressions. "Awesome, huh?!" He clapped his hands hard and made a strange flurry of movements with his fists. "Impressed? C'mon! Whaddya think?!"

"It's..." Aziraphale was rendered speechless for a few moments as he blinked with wonder. "Paradise," he finally breathed.

"Exactly what we were going for!" Gabriel exuberated. 

"How did you manage all of this?" Crowley asked, eyes still scanning and not knowing where to land.

Gabriel chuckled and sighed with pride. "It's truly incredible how quickly humans progress. We started with only about sixty or so survivors and even fewer angels." He nodded and waved a hand over the expanse. "And now this. It was hard work, but humans are surprisingly resilient and clever! Never knew! They work at a much faster pace than us immortals are used to, but I guess you know all this already, huh?" He laughed again, bewildered. "All we did was bless them with extra-long lives and health, provided the essentials to sustain life underground, gathered more humans, and bam! They just took off! Well, we provided other stuff too. Mostly just blessings though. To keep everything in working order." Gabriel blushed and cleared his throat. "They multiply like crazy."

"That they do," Crowley chuckled, threw an arm over Aziraphale, and gave him a shake. "Look at how many there are, angel."

"A quarter of a million, at least," Aziraphale murmured.

"Almost half a million actually!" Gabriel corrected. "And," he cupped a hand to his mouth as if telling a secret, "we're not the only sanctuary." He waggled his eyebrows and waved the dumbfounded demons toward a declining path. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up and settled!"

When they arrived before a pair of large, open gates, the trio noticed a group gathered with baskets full of all kinds of things. Clothes, food, jugs of water.

"Welcoming party," Gabriel explained, "they're waiting for our scouts and soldiers to return from the charge and supply run. And..." he gave them a wary look, "you."

"Us?" Crowley questioned. He brought Aziraphale closer to him, protectively. 

If the humans were aware there were demons arriving, who knew how they would react. The closer they got, the more Crowley worried. They were being watched closely, and though no one seemed hostile, they did appear suspicious.

Gabriel slowed and turned to the demons. "I think wings out would send a good message. You know, that we're transparent and all that. If you don't mind."

The lover's stopped, eyed each other, and slowly unfurled their wings for all to see. Gasps and murmurs erupted, but no one made a move toward or away from them.

Gabriel nodded appreciatively and faced the crowd, his wings unfurling as well. "Hey, everyone!" The people greeted him back happily, calling him by name as they walked by. "Thanks for welcoming our new friends." He smiled and then muttered over his shoulder. "Introduce yourselves."

"Erm, hi. Crowley. Demon. Yeah." Crowley gave an awkward wave.

The humans murmured their hello's. 

Aziraphale kept his eyes downcast and pressed himself closer to his lover. "I shouldn't be here," he whispered to Crowley, "they know me as an enemy."

"They know all demons as the enemy," Crowley whispered back. "We'll be fine."

"You don't understand--"

"Lord Azirath!!" A feminine cry rang out, and the crowd started to part.

There it was. Someone had recognized him and was surely going to try and murder him right then and there. Before Aziraphale could react, a woman threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Aziraphale held his arms out and away from her, his eyes wide and wings flapping with surprise. When the woman leaned away and lifted her gaze, Aziraphale recognized her with a gasp.

"Sally?"

"I'm so happy you're here!" She exclaimed with pure joy and happy tears.

Aziraphale was too stunned to respond, and after a moment of just staring at the girl, he abruptly remembered why this meeting was problematic. He snapped his gaze up to find Crowley watching them with a knowing look. 

_ Oh, drat _, Aziraphale lamented.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does that even count as a cliffhanger? ::chuckles nervously::
> 
> Poor Aziraphale. I can't even imagine the mortification of something like this happening IRL. lol Think he's in trouble?
> 
> What do think about Gabe and his new attitude? I hope he's still in character.
> 
> I have 11 of you in the private group on insta so far! I've been having a lot of fun posting extra content for this story. I hope the content is up to you standards! Have any ideas I could include in the insta stories? I'm open to ideas!
> 
> Also, just in case you missed it, I asked in the stories if any of you wanted to start a chat group on insta as well. Let me know! 
> 
> If you want to be added to the private group, just send me a dm to @mordellestories with "add me." If you don't have instagram and you still want to see the extra content... I'm on discord (mordelle#9350) and tumblr (@mordellestories). Any of you know of a better way to do this sorta thing?
> 
> Discord might actually be the best option but I'm not sure how popular it is. IDK! Advice is obviously needed lol.
> 
> Okay, I'm off to finish the first draft of chapter 17 and hopefully start a sketch for chapter 15. We're coming close to the end, my friends. I'm excited and sad at the same time! But I have a few ideas for another fic in this fandom. The one I'm leaning towards now is a Human Au in the vein of "The Shop Around the Corner" or "You've Got Mail" with my own angsty spin on it, of course.
> 
> What do guys think of that?
> 
> Have a great weekend!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Releasing another chapter! It's the holiday season, what can I say? Though I'm not a fan of Thanksgiving for more than one reason (mostly for it's history), the sentiment behind the holiday is all right, I guess. 
> 
> This chapter is mostly setup. A little melancholic Aziraphale in here. 
> 
> Thank you Beta's Azeran and Tim! I have no idea what I'd do without you both!
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, comments, messages! We have 15 members in the instagram private group! Every one is welcome to join. I'll put all the links in the end notes. Also, I have a playlist for this story for those interested.
> 
> On with the show!

There was obviously no mercy left in the universe, Aziraphale was sure, because the ground was not kind enough to swallow him whole. The red-headed woman beamed and clawed at him in his arms with overwhelming joy. _ Strange _, he thought. He was sure none of his rescues would ever want to lay eyes on him again, at least, he hoped they wouldn't. Aziraphale never dreamed he would be reunited with any of them if he were honest. He had planned to die and even if he hadn't, he still would never wish to see the likes of them. Ever. But here was one, blabbering away excitedly, still clinging like a spider monkey while everyone watched. 

While Crowley watched. 

And where there was one ginger in the sanctuary, Aziraphale's wheels in his mind started to turn--

"I found my brother, Lord Azirath! He was here all along! You saved him some years back!" Sally exclaimed and waved another red-head forward.

The sibling approached with a shy smile and waved. 

_ Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck. Shit. Shit. Great-big-buggering-fuck-shit! _

Aziraphale felt the blood drain even further out of his face. He had positively fucked that young man. Sam. His name was Sam. The similarities between the two were striking, and it was a wonder Aziraphale hadn't remembered him upon seeing Sally for the first time. Well, he never paid much attention to their faces. 

_ Christ alive, _ Aziraphale panicked, _ Gabriel said everyone here was blessed with long lives! How many of them are there?! _It was with a sickening dread that Aziraphale realised there could be centuries worth of his rescues living in the sanctuary - enough to build a small ginger platoon. 

He was going to discorporate.

"Oh," Gabriel suddenly realised what was happening, "_ oh _." He peered at Crowley, who was watching the spectacle with great interest.

Aziraphale dared not look at Crowley. He began to stumble as Sam came closer. "How-how lovely, erm, very fortunate that, um, you found each other." He patted Sally on the shoulders and took the opportunity to peel her off of him.

"And we have you to thank," Sam said while placing a basket at Aziraphale's feet. When he stood straight, he gave Aziraphale a coy little wink.

"Oh, no," Aziraphale waved off the comment emphatically, "no need to thank me. Really. _ Please _ don't." He was really begging.

"Of course we do!" Sally insisted, then motioned to the basket. "When we heard you were coming, we just had to show our gratitude. It's not much. At the very least consider it a welcoming or a house warming present!" She looked at him hopefully and seemed nervous.

Aziraphale shook his head. "I really don't--"

"_ Thanksss _," Crowley interrupted as he walked toward them and took the basket in Aziraphale's stead. "That’s very kind of you," he smiled.

Sally considered Crowley for a moment before her eyes went wide. She looked from demon to demon in shock. "Is this _ him _?" Sally asked in complete awe.

Aziraphale went scarlet and cleared his throat. "This-this-is-my-husband-yes," he let out as if it were all one word. He chanced a quick glance at Crowley, who continued to smile strangely at the young woman. If he was bothered by the term _ husband _or the situation at all, he did not show it.

Sam stepped back and looked everywhere but at the two of them while Sally broke into a peculiar, giggling fit. She lunged at them, took their hands in each of hers and jumped with glee.

"Oh, I'm so happy you found him!" She squealed.

"Hmm, me too, dear," Crowley grinned and shook their clasped hands, mimicking her excitement with a tense toothy grin. 

Gabriel clasped a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and nodded. "Great reunion," he said, smiling politely, "but they've had a long journey. I think we should get them settled."

Aziraphale would never admit he was praising God for Gabriel's presence at that moment.

"Of course! We won't bother you again, I promise." Sally looked a little self-conscious and released them.

"Don't be _ silly _ ," Crowley smirked at Sally, " _ you _ can bother us anytime." Then he sent a warning glare at Sam who shuffled back and found great interest in a pebble by his foot. Crowley turned his gaze to Aziraphale and twitched his nose with a sneer. "We should get going, _ husband _."

_ I'm done for. _ "Quite right," Aziraphale muttered and quickly followed Gabriel.

They did not walk through the city; there was no other word that best fit the place. Instead, Gabriel led them through a declining path, deeper into the caverns. The ground was slippery and steep, dangerous for any mortal to traverse unassisted. It seemed to get darker the further they veered away from the main area. 

The darkness did not last long, and Aziraphale was able to make out a glow in the distance. He could feel Crowley's eyes on the back of his head the whole time, and he was both scared and anxious to see his face. Aziraphale wondered how angry Crowley was. Maybe Crowley was not angry at all, but understanding. The latter made Aziraphale feel ill. He'd rather face Crowley's wrath than his pity. He was kicking himself for succumbing to his shameful desires. Had he only abstained, like he did with every other human pleasure, then his efforts to rescue those humans would have been pure and maybe even admirable. 

Aziraphale had not abstained, and if he were honest, if he had to do it all over again, he would not have changed a thing. Not because he did not wish circumstances had been different, but because he knew he would have failed regardless. The pain of physical hunger and small pleasures was a trifle compared to the agony of his loneliness. So how could Aziraphale apologise for his behaviour if he knew he was not exactly, completely regretful? 

Aziraphale wracked his exhausted mind over what he could say to Crowley, what he could do, to make up for his betrayal. That is precisely what it felt like, betrayal, and it was choking him to death, but he kept his composure the best he could. It was not a topic to broach while Gabriel was around, and maybe he should take his time bringing it up at all. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to let Crowley bring it up. No, that would not do. Aziraphale knew Crowley too well to rely on him to make the first move on talking about _ feelings _. He settled for waiting until Gabriel was not around and keeping a close eye on his lover for any signs that he was upset.

It was brighter now, and when they turned a corner, both Crowley and Aziraphale stopped and took in the sight before them. It was much smaller than the main chamber but still quite large, with the same spheres of light scattered everywhere. There were some small cottages on the ground and a few structures being built on the walls but not nearly enough to house as many demons as Gabriel was expecting. The area was quite bare, but at its centre was a large pool of water. 

The colour of the glowing balls changed from a white-blue to a soft, almost orange glow. It appeared that the humans constructing the abodes were done working for the day as they picked up their tools and drove their carts of supplies, pulled by mules, out of the way of the main path. Gabriel urged the demons on as the workers filed up and began there trudge back to their homes. As they passed, some murmured their welcome, some merely stared, and others refused to look at the demons entirely. Gabriel muttered his thanks and shook some hands as they continued on.

Gabriel opened his arms wide. "Take your pick of any of the finished homes. They're small because we figured that demons, um, correct me if I'm wrong, wouldn't like sharing spaces."

Crowley arched a brow and gave a light scoff. "Quite the opposite, but I think separate living spaces is a smart move."

Aziraphale tried not to think about the suffocating halls of Hell and how all the demons huddled close together as if they sought warmth. A human vessel could not survive that heat without miracles. Even without corporations, the hellfire temperature was not something Aziraphale ever wanted to feel again. When he lost his Grace, he understood them all too well. 

"Really?" Gabriel seemed to deflate. "We can build the next houses bigger..."

Not that Falling was the most painful thing Aziraphale had ever experienced. No, losing Crowley still won first prize for that. 

Aziraphale's connection to God was the only thing that supplied him with any sliver of strength and faith, that Crowley was still out there, maybe on Alpha Centauri waiting for him. The last thread that connected him to hope was cut, and his wings were not strong enough to keep him in flight for long. Aziraphale had Fallen twice, and eventually, he too could not stop himself from seeking those confined spaces in Hell's labyrinth, taking whatever company he could get though he despised them all. 

The problem was that everyone around him was just as miserable, and in the words of Menander; _ bad company corrupts good character. _

"Most demons are not the best influences on each other with so little experience outside of Hell," Aziraphale explained dryly. "The larger the groups, the more likely they'll get up to trouble."

When Aziraphale finally made it back to Earth, there were no crowded halls to hide his loneliness in, and he took solace in other ways, in other _ people, _and it helped stave off his decline into utter demonic chaos. Crowley would understand more than anyone in existence why he sought the humans. It wasn't just to save them. It wasn't even only because they reminded him of Crowley. 

It was because even though Aziraphale was filled with hate, that he'd turned heartless, at least he was capable of still drawing a line. Capable of acknowledging that it was better to die with keeping some semblance of his former self than to live and continue to transform into the monster he was becoming. However base his actions were with his rescues, it was the only kind of love he was able to feel at the time. Those connections kept him more human than demon when he needed it most. Those scraps kept him sane.

And as if Crowley had read his mind, he nodded in agreement. "Might be even better to have some humans and angels live here too if you want real peace." Crowley looked out to the water and closed his eyes. "It'll do them a lot of - I can't believe I'm going to say this." He opened his eyes. "It'll do them a lot of good. I should know." Crowley smirked wistfully and shot a gentle look at Aziraphale.

So, Crowley did understand. Of course, he did. Demons needed to know their options. That there were other ways to exist, ways to fill the void God left behind other than pretend the hallways are too narrow and that Hell was too cold.

Aziraphale looked at Gabriel to avoid eye contact with the love of his life. He questioned his own worth. The humans were Aziraphale's only source of light, however dim. Crowley's source had always been Aziraphale. It stood to reason. He had been an angel. But not anymore. 

What light could he offer Crowley to keep him warm now? To keep him in flight and not drag Crowley down with him? 

Aziraphale feared the answer and decided to pay more attention to the conversation as a way to keep it at bay.

Gabriel frowned and grunted but seemed to accept the idea. "I'll work on that. In the meantime, rest up. The finished homes are fully stocked."

"Food?" Asked Crowley. "I don't see any farms or gardens."

"Oh," Gabriel pursed his lips, "Well, we thought this would strictly be..." he trailed off and got frustrated. "Of course, I forget how we all get used to certain human comforts." He blushed and widened his eyes. "Yeah, I'll get a team on that too."

_ We. _ Aziraphale thought as he took in Gabriel's embarrassed reaction. He'd never seen that look on him before. _ Curious. _

"I can help with that," Crowley offered casually and with a shrug. "M’good with growing things," he muttered. 

Aziraphale could no longer stand not looking at him. He set his gaze on Crowley and saw how insecure he seemed, though no one else would recognise it by his relaxed and lazy stance. The thought of Crowley yelling at tomatoes and all manner plants made Aziraphale involuntarily smile at his lover. 

Crowley must have sensed his stare because he glanced at Aziraphale, and his vulnerability vanished, his amber eyes sharp and shrewd. The look was so penetrating that Aziraphale panicked and turned away. He wasn't ready for Crowley's forgiveness, for his pity. If Crowley even wanted to offer it in the first place.

Aziraphale heard more than saw Gabriel take his leave and Crowley saunter toward one of the houses.

"How 'bout that one, Aziraphale?" Crowley nodded toward a home tucked in a cave-like nook by the water.

_ Aziraphale, not angel, _ he noted. "Whatever you want, darling." 

He saw Crowley stiffen before swaying toward their new home. Aziraphale followed at a distance, keeping his head low and trying not to despair. He knew now that he wanted, no needed, Crowley to forgive him, but it was probably too soon to ask for comfort, to ask for anything. After all, he still could not figure out what he had to give back. Maybe his promise and devotion to doing anything Crowley asked would be enough. It struck Aziraphale then.

_ Is this why he indulged in my every whim? Did he feel like he was not enough because he thought himself incomplete? Because he was a demon and I was not? That there was no way I could ever love him as he did me, because he could not offer what God could? _

_ How did I not see it before? _

Aziraphale felt like such a fool. He could see now how incredibly obtuse he'd been. He should have told Crowley how he felt sooner. So much sooner. He should have said that he loved him. That Crowley was his centre even though the knowledge frightened him because wasn't God supposed to take that place? 

Crowley was already lighting candles when Aziraphale entered the small house. It was a simple abode. It was all open with one bed pushed in a distant corner on the ground. The bed was small but seemed easy enough to add to its size by stuffing it with more of whatever it was made of. There was a cosy area with a loveseat and weaved basket full of wood and tools by the small fireplace, a table with one chair and a chest. 

Aziraphale made his way to the chest and opened it. Different folded fabrics lay within. "Clothes," Aziraphale uttered aloud.

Crowley lit a fire next. "What’s that?" He called over his shoulder.

He removed the clothing and other cloths and laid them out on the mattress. "I found clothes."

"Oh, good," Crowley replied dryly and removed his coat. "We can clean ourselves up in the lake and burn _ these, _" he plucked at his shirt. By example, Crowley tossed his jacket into the fire, then began to undress. 

Aziraphale averted his gaze again, but Crowley eventually stood by his side, naked.

"Tunics?" Crowley scoffed with disgust. "What are we, back in ancient Greece? 'M almost regretting destroying my suit," he grumbled. "C'mon." 

Crowley stood behind Aziraphale and began to remove his clothing as well. He reached for the belt buckle. When Aziraphale stiffed, Crowley let go immediately and took a step back.

"Sorry," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder with a furrowed brow. "For what?" He was the one who should be sorry, not Crowley.

Crowley closed his eyes and sighed. "Anything that can serve to dry us off?"

"You mean like towels?" Aziraphale held up the towel and tried to smirk.

Crowley scoffed. "Cheek." He shook his head and smirked back. 

It was more genuine than Aziraphale's, and that gave him hope. "I'm a bit too tired for a swim, I'm afraid," he said apologetically. 

"I'll do all the work," Crowley offered shyly and looked at his feet. "If you want, I mean. I know," he rubbed the back of his neck, nervously, "I won't do anything, you know," he frowned, "untoward. If you don't feel comfortable, I understand."

Aziraphale was utterly confused. He faced Crowley and tilted his head. "_ Untoward _?"

Crowley looked at him like he was growing horns. "Yeah, if you're worried I want, you know," he gestured oddly, "intimacy?" He looked like he was about to be sick. 

Aziraphale felt like he didn't have enough brainpower to get through whatever was happening. "Why wouldn't I want intimacy?"

"Oh, I dunno," Crowley let out sarcastically, "maybe because you were sexually assaulted, and you won't look at me or let me touch you without flinching?" 

Crowley grew pale when Aziraphale appeared stricken. "Oh."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I didn't, I mean, I understand. I'm-I'm not angry with _ you _. You know that, right, angel?" He took a step forward and went to reach out but thought better of it.

_ Angel, not Aziraphale _, he noted with relief.

"Crowley," Aziraphale advanced and took Crowley's hands. "You can be. Angry with me, that is." He stared at their filthy and bloody fingers. "I just thought you were cross for a different reason entirely," he confessed.

It took Crowley a moment to understand what he meant, but when he did, Crowley rolled his eyes. "You mean your _ fans _ at the gate?" He groaned when Aziraphale sniffed and gave a curt nod. "You're _ ridiculous _ . Do you know that?" He shook his head, bewildered. "After everything we went through, you _ really _ think I'd give a damn who you shagged or didn't shag before you even knew I was _ alive _ ? Absurd. Would you have faulted me? Been angry with _ me _?"

Aziraphale released him and buried his face in his hands. It did sound absurd when said out loud. "Of course not," he let out with a breath. 

Relief hit Aziraphle first before everything he had bottled up finally overflowed. They had almost lost each other again. They had escaped. Crowley had been almost been... and he'd been powerless.

He couldn't bear thinking about it, but his body finally gave way to all of the terror that his survival instincts had pushed aside. It was too much. It was all too much. How much more could he take? 

Arms enveloped him as he shook and gasped. Before he knew it, he was completely bare and waist-deep in frigid water. Hands led him and cleansed him. A brief moment underwater shocked him into stillness, crushing his lungs, and his sobs subsided for the most part shortly after that. 

Aziraphale was still dazed but finally aware of his surroundings when Crowley wrapped him in a towel and sat him by the fire. When he felt a tug on his back, Aziraphale realised his wings were out, and Crowley was grooming one of them. The hiccups and the sniffles had stopped completely, leaving Aziraphale's nose tingling and his body even more drained.

"I've missed this," Crowley murmured. "Should have done this sooner. Should have done this more often back then too." He chuckled lightly. "I was too afraid to ask most times. Always surprised when you suggested it."

Aziraphale stared into the flames. His skin was warm, and his hair was dry. How long had he been sitting there? "I wouldn't groom them on purpose," he croaked out his confession. He felt Crowley's fingers pause. "Wanted it to last."

"And you say I'm the wily one," Crowley smiled and playfully tugged on a feather. A quiet moment passed as he continued carding through his wing. "They're not grey. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Aziraphale took a long, steady inhale. "Wouldn't do to have rumours of a demon with white wings."

"No, it wouldn't." Crowley agreed. 

He knew what was coming. He wasn't sure he had the answer.

"You have a theory, don't you," Crowley stated. "Tell me?"

Aziraphale felt Crowley tap his shoulder so he would put away the groomed wing and stretch out the other. He cleared his throat. "It's a silly theory."

"I won't judge."

Another long look at the flames and another sigh. "Before I Fell, I still had hope that I'd find you. You'd been discorporated. I had to believe that I couldn't sense you because you'd been recalled to Hell." He pictured the day before his trial. "Beelzebub thinks I took their offer for revenge. That's not entirely true. I was planning to Fall anyway. To seek you out. To exhaust all possibilities."

Crowley paused again and hummed in response.

"I want you to know that I did not give up easily, Crowley. I searched and searched... and _ searched _ . That's why I Fell. I didn't Fall because I was angry with God or because I was rejecting love. I Fell for you. _ For _ love.."

Aziraphale felt Crowley's hands tremble in his feathers.

"I imagined they stayed white as a seal of approval." He continued. "A blessing." He chuckled mirthlessly. "See? Silly. Why would God bless a Fallen? Me in particular?" He laughed again. "I'm not special, just a reject of Heaven and Hell."

Crowley's hands began to move swiftly then. Like he wanted to finish his task as quickly as possible. When he was done, he walked around and crouched before Aziraphale, his face severe.

"Don't you ever talk about my husband that way again, understand?"

Aziraphale gasped.

"Heaven and Hell don't deserve you," Crowley drawled. "I'd say I don't deserve you either, but only one of us is allowed to wallow in self-loathing at a time, and it looks like you insist on it being you." 

Crowley stood up and held out his hand. "I won't stand for it much longer, angel, even if I have to show you every single day how special you are to _ me _. I hope that it'll be enough for you someday."

Aziraphale took his hand, eyes glued to Crowley's in awe. "It's enough _ now _ ," he whispered. _ Husband, _his mind echoed. He closed his eyes in bliss and gratitude. 

"Come to bed." Crowley pulled him to the down-stuffed mattress on the floor and tucked them both in, bare as newborns. "Can I hold you? Would that be alright?"

"You never have to ask that." Aziraphale draped an arm over his lover and rested his head in the crook of Crowley's shoulder. "I wasn’t the only one who was... not the only one he--"

"You said you'd do anything I ask," Crowley deflected. "Will you do something for me now?"

_ Finally, _ Aziraphale thought. He felt enough shame at not being able to care for Crowley like he thought he would upon arriving at the sanctuary. He was weak. He'd failed, but now there was a chance to do something for his beloved. 

"Anything," Aziraphale promised.

"Swear it?"

"Swear."

Crowley kissed the top of his head and raked his fingers in his hair. "I want you to sleep," he said his request like it would be rejected. "Will you do that for me?"

Aziraphale had not slept in centuries, paranoid to even close his eyes for too long. The idea struck him with fear even now, but the way Crowley asked made Aziraphale want to comply. He was so tired, and the oppressive horror above ground was far, far away. He felt some semblance of safety, there in the little house, in Crowley's arms. He wanted to say no. He wanted to say that he should be the one offering Crowley comfort and safety.

"You promised," Crowley reminded him.

"All right," Aziraphale whispered. He closed his eyes and felt Crowley press a kiss to his forehead, then instantly succumbed to centuries worth of weariness.

Aziraphale's breathing evened out immediately, and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. The candles and fire burned themselves out, and in the dark, Crowley allowed himself to cry silently. 

Crowley cried a little for himself but mostly for his angel. Aziraphale was determined to do whatever Crowley fancied with no regard for his own needs. Didn't even care to choose where they were going to be living for an indeterminable amount of time. More concerning was the fact that Aziraphale overlooked his own trauma entirely because he was worried about his displeasure over something so stupid.

_ Whatever you want, darling. _

It reminded Crowley of someone. He frowned. 

_ What a great example you've been, you stupid snake, _ he berated himself inwardly. 

An awful flash of memories struck Crowley like a backhanded slap and he already knew he was no longer in the room. He could sense his own absence now. It was as if they were back in that horrible moment. Aziraphale on all fours, bleeding everywhere and exposed. Satan thrusting his hips forward. The angle had been off and Crowley could not tell if Satan had been able to… if he’d…

And what if he had? How could he help Aziraphale? Crowley had been certain that his angel’s flighty reactions were spurred by his recent trauma, and yet Aziraphale was in his arms, trusting him. Crowley was at a loss on what to do. He concentrated on sending his being back into the rest of his body. He looked at his lover, his husband, yes, that was right. Husband. He watched his peaceful face and listened to his even breaths. Crowley would have to broach the subject. He knew his angel enough to know that Aziraphale would bury his suffering for Crowley’s sake. It wasn’t his strong suit, talking about feelings, talking about difficult, open wounds. Still, Crowley would do it. He just didn’t know how yet.

There was so much they both needed to learn, so much needed to heal. _ How am I going to fix this, _he wondered. 

While caring for his lover, he had found his own serpent's mark on Aziraphale’s chest, right over his heart. It had not been there before, which proved that Aziraphale had molded Scarlet from himself with detailed purpose, to remember Crowley at all times. An odd phenomenon, a demon able to choose the shape of their familiar, he mused. Everyone’s aspect was supposed to be unique. A piece of themselves they could not hold within but could also not exist without. Aziraphale’s aspect wasn’t the red bellied black serpent, it was Crowley himself. The piece of Aziraphale where he had kept Crolwey in. Romantic, Crolwey had to admit and was suddenly overwhelmed with love for the beautiful creature in his arms. Even as Aziraphale Fell, he’d had Crowley at the forefront of his heart and mind.

As Crowley dragged a single white feather over his cheek, something clicked into place — a vague curiosity. 

Questions. 

Crowley brought the feather before his face and scrutinised it, looking for answers.

White wings. A blessing from the Almighty? What a strange and inconceivable concept. What was the purpose of Falling if God approved of it? It made no sense, and yet Crowley could only feel like Aziaphale's theory was right. His angel was clever. There had to be something to it.

Crowley stared at his branding on Aziraphale’s chest, moving up and down evenly as he continued to sleep. 

Did not Fall to _ reject _ love, but Fell _ for _ love. 

_ Self-sacrifice? _ Crowley almost scoffed. _ We all know how much She loves that. _

_ For love... _

Crowley gasped, and his eyes grew wide. He looked down at Aziraphale's serene face and back to the feather.

Aziraphale had not been the only one to choose between Falling and destruction. The memories of their Fallen companions had come back to them before their trials. What if the ones who decided to Fall did not do it out of self-preservation? What if Aziraphale was not the only one who Fell for love?

The even number of angels and demons. The search for companionship. The pairs that formed. 

_ Good lord, _ Crowley thought, stunned. _ We're not the only ones. _There was significance in that, he knew. Crowley just needed more time to think. He needed to talk to Gabriel.

Crowley almost got up but refrained when Aziraphale twitched and tensed in his arms. He smoothed his lover's creased brow, and Aziraphale relaxed, burrowing deeper in Crowley's embrace.

His theories could wait. His angel could not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now! Some of you were right on the money about why Aziraphale's wings are still white! You all have great questions and theories and I always love to hear them!
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> A special thank you to everyone who has shared this story with others! I'm eternally grateful! 
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> Have a lovely rest of your week!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm am making snail's progress at writing chapter 18. I write a little bit each day but it's been hard. Not only is the chapter going to be long, but my PME also got me on an all-time low these days. (Anyone here have PMDD? I feel you!) It's a big struggle.
> 
> Anyway! Here it is ya'll! A little more setup and a little more character development and healing with some answers and clues throughout!
> 
> Thank you beta's: Azeran and Tim!
> 
> BTW, go back to chapter 14 to see art by my partner, Tim. He was inspired to build the sanctuary using photoshop! It's wild.

He was scared but excited at the prospect of escape. His hands trembled, but his feet were strong and carried him forward. Freedom was something he'd never hoped to have in such a dark and cruel world. It was the closest thing to happiness he’d experienced since that awful day. He had been alone, but now he had Crowley. Crowley was by his side, and it was time to choose. He chose Crowley. But Crowley had not chosen him.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Aziraphale yelled after his beloved as Crowley ran from him.

Crowley turned around and paused, a look of regret on his face. He spoke, but Aziraphale could not hear him. He watched Crowley run from him, and his heart shattered.

"Wait! Please! Please, Crowley! I need you! Please don't leave me!" 

Aziraphale ran after him, arm stretched before him, clawing at empty space, and watching Crowley grow smaller as he put more distance between them. He was desperate. He was heartbroken. All he wanted was to be with Crowley. Crowley had made him feel hope. Crowley had made him better. Crowley seemed to care. It was all a lie, but he didn't mind. He ran after him anyway because there was no other choice for him, but he was being dragged back, the ground becoming sand beneath his feet.

"Don't leave me!" he cried in a broken shriek. "Don't leave me all alone, please, please, _ please _!"

  
  


With a loud gasp, Aziraphale's eyes shot open. He wanted to stand and run, but he couldn't move. He tried again but whatever was restraining him held fast, and he began to panic.

_ Shhh. Hush. You're alright. Breathe. _

The words were whispered directly into his mind, and he felt calm almost immediately, then a large head of a snake hovered above his face and he cried out with surprise.

The snake flinched back but continued to watch him. _ It'sss jussst me. _

Nothing like a massive head of a poisonous predator to jumpstart your morning. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale breathed. "I can't-I can't move-- _ oh _." He looked down at himself and found that Crowley had coiled around him, pinning him in place.

_ You were having bad dreams, _ he explained with a hint of guilt _ . You were thrashing. I thought this would help. _

Aziraphale took in a long breath, Crowley letting up enough for his lungs to take in the crisp, clean air. He felt the serpent begin to unravel himself.

"No, please!" Aziraphale exclaimed a bit too loud. He cleared his throat and swallowed. "It does help." 

It really did. The full-body embrace was calming. He felt sheltered and protected and let his body relax in its vice. They were quiet for a long while as Aziraphale stared at the ceiling, Crowley's head tucked into the crook of his neck and squeezing him every so often. Aziraphale's mind was still trying to orientate itself. The remnants of anxiety from the dream still swirled in his belly. He felt damp.

_ You dreamt of... it... that night, didn't you? _

It took a moment for Aziraphale to realize what he was referring to. "Oh. Yes. But not what you think."

Crowley lifted his head and waited for more.

"I think," Aziraphale swallowed down the pain, "I think I was Adam." His eyes glazed over as he recalled the murkiness of the dream that seemed so vivid at the time. "You left me behind. I watched you leave me."

Crowley let out a soft hiss that seemed like a sigh. _ I can ssstill see his face. I grew too attached. He reminded me so much of... _

Warlock. Aziraphale's mind supplied sadly when Crowley didn't finish his statement. He nodded in understanding. Best not think of that now, or maybe ever. The pain of the dream washed over him and buried itself in his chest. Watching Crowley leave him like that drove him to despair. Adam must have felt the same way. It seemed his subconscious was trying to hammer empathy back into him despite not having any in almost six centuries. If he told the truth, he had become a little attached to Adam as well, if only because he brought Crowley joy. It was more than that. If he let himself dwell, he'd find that Adam also reminded him of Warlock, of a life he enjoyed a bit too much of at the time. The boys probably would have been great friends.

Friends.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale nearly sobbed.

_ What? What is it? _ Crowley replied in alarm.

The usual guilt that blanketed him wherever he went transformed into something worse, something almost forgotten.

"He's alone," Aziraphale uttered in fear. Fear for Adam. Fear for the world. "I think he's in danger." 

Not the physical kind, not really. Adam was in danger of becoming like _ him. _Azirath. And if Azirath had been the ruler of New Earth, with Satan's army and power propelling him forward, he knew that everyone who stood against him would perish. Because he was alone. Because he'd lost his best friend. Adam had already ended the world once in similar circumstances, and Aziraphale played a part in it by scorning the boy.

"We shouldn't have left him," Aziraphale admitted quietly.

Crowley stared at him for a moment. _ It was an impossible situation. Beelzebub... we did the bessst we could. _

"Then why does it suddenly feel so wrong?" The pain pulsed again. He had once told Adam there was no such thing as right and wrong.

_ You should ressst sssome more. You need it. _

At those words, Aziraphale suddenly realized how exhausted he still felt. He wondered how long he'd been sleeping, but darkness overtook him before he could ask.

Lucifer and Michael danced around on a floor made of glass. There was no one else. Just them. Then Aziraphale noticed he was dancing. He had taken Michael's place. Lucifer twirled him around and around. It was dizzying, and his stomach soured. He didn't like Lucifer, but couldn't understand why at that moment.

"Who is your god?" Lucifer whispered, a gleaming, warm smile on his face.

Aziraphale looked around the room as he was pulled in a different direction. _ Crowley _, he thought, and the thought brought him forth. Copper hair caught his eye. He tried to go to him, but Lucifer pulled him further away.

"Michael," Lucifer said with a frown. "Who is your god?"

"Let me go. Crowley! Crowley!" Aziraphale struggled and reached for him. "Let me go! I hate you! I hate you!"

Lucifer released him, and Aziraphale dropped to his knees facing Crowley. The glass floor cracked beneath his knees. He smiled at his demon, who beckoned him forward. Something caught Aziraphale's eye. It rolled and rolled until it stopped before him. 

Michael's head. They looked sad, and they were looking right at him. "It was never you," they whispered.

Michael opened their mouth, and high pitched shriek woke Aziraphale up, panting and with a ringing in his ears. The floor shattered and sent him plummeting. 

Downright panic sent Aziraphale scrambling out of bed. He whipped his head around. He had no idea where he was. It was all different. From what, he could not say. He was alone.

A muffled chuckle could be heard coming from outdoors. 

"Crowley." He was about to dash outside when he heard more voices. 

He froze, trying to make out what was being said but he couldn't hear. His panic subsided some when Crowley laughed again. Aziraphale closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and looked around once more. He was in the small cottage in the Sanctuary, though it looked very different than he remembered. There were some potted plants, more chairs, an old fashioned oven. The dining table was larger with a vase of wildflowers at its centre. The bed was larger too and on a simple but beautifully engraved bed frame. Crowley had been with him. He was there still, just outside and Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to run out there and hold him close.

Aziraphale surveyed himself and was grateful he did not run out on impulse. He was naked. A quick search through the chest and Aziraphale donned on a tunic and trousers. He was still adjusting his clothes and barefoot when he carefully opened the door and peered out.

"Oh, _ lord _," said an unfamiliar demon with his back turned to Aziraphale. "The wine here is better than anything up there. Demons are shite at making anything worth swallowing!" The demon's laughter boomed. 

_ Archangel Ramiel. Guide of Souls, _ the previous name and vocation came to Aziraphale's mind quickly though they had never met. 

Aziraphale eased his way out of the house while more voices and chatter filled the air. Gabriel, Uriel, Ramiel, Moloch, Crowley, and a handful of humans stood or sat in a circle around a fire. Something smelled scrumptious, and Aziraphale's stomach growled viciously at the scent.

Everyone grew quiet and turned to face him. Crowley shot out his seat at once, a look of guilt on his weary-looking face.

"Angel," Crowley said and stepped forward tentatively before he made his way more confidently toward his lover. "You're up." He smiled softly, a hint of uncertainty shining in his eyes. "How do you feel?"

Aziraphale looked past him, everyone was watching. "I'm fine," he uttered hoarsely, voice rough from disuse. 

Gabriel cleared his throat and waved. "Welcome back, sunshine. Join us! Grab some grub!" He chuckled at his choice of words and started up the chatter once more.

Most of those present made a point to stop staring. Aziraphale breathed a bit easier but then felt a stab of disappointment.

"You weren't there," Aziraphale murmured and kept his eyes trained on Crowley's chest. It was so strange to see him in such light coloured clothing.

Crowley wrapped his arms around his angel and pressed a hard kiss to his temple. "I'm sorry, angel. I swear I was by your side the whole time up until we got some company. I have to tell you something important about them." He leaned back with a wide smile. "Actually, we should show you!"

"Show me what?" Aziraphale clung to him like he might disappear. "What's happened?"

"It's alright, angel, come and let me introduce you." Crowley squeezed him then led Aziraphale to where he had been sitting. He pointed to Moloch and Ramiel. "You know Moloch, she tells me," he waited for Aziraphale to nod in assent. "And Ramiel, who was going by Shax up until recently." He looked to the crowd and grinned. "Everyone, this is Aziraphale."

Aziraphale smiled politely and nodded. "Good evening. If it's evening."

The group chuckled.

"It is, in fact," Ramiel replied. "So, not Azirath?"

Aziraphale fidgeted under their gaze. Everyone was waiting with great curiosity. "Erm, no, Aziraphale is fine," he replied demurely. He felt embarrassed using his name like he had no right to use it. It was the first time he'd felt that way. If Ramiel could take his name back, then so could Aziraphale. It's who he wanted to be, for Crowley, and for himself now too.

"Well," said Ramiel with a knowing smile, "it's good to meet another dove."

Aziraphale blinked at the grinning faces. "Sorry, I'm still a bit disoriented, I think. What-what do you mean?"

Slowly, a pair of white wings unfurled and stretched skyward behind Ramiel. Aziraphale stared, still not comprehending what he was seeing. Ramiel was a demon. He had white wings. 

Aziraphale gasped and pointed. "They're white!"

The group laughed again, and Aziraphale quickly felt like a joke had gone over his head. He shrunk next to Crowley, who wrapped a steadying arm around his waist.

"They're companions," Crowley explained. "Like us." His smile was beaming as he looked at his lover, who was trying very hard to understand. "When you told me about your theory, I remembered that you mentioned you got your memories back _ before _ your trial. With all the weird coincidences, about our numbers, I wondered if that had been true for everyone else. That would have meant that there was a big chance other angels Fell for the same reason you did! I told Gabriel about it--"

"I thought he was nuts."

"But he sent word to Beelzebub to do some digging, see if there were more demons with white wings." Crowley motioned toward Ramiel. "They found _ him _."

"There are others," Ramiel added. "I don't know how many, but I do know a few, that before their trial, confessed to me that they were choosing to Fall and find their former mates."

"Doves," Gabriel supplied. "We're calling you doves."

Aziraphale let out a puff of air. He could feel the weight of the significance, but the information was too much to soak up after having been asleep for--

"How long have I been asleep?" Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who frowned with guilt.

"Now, angel," Crowley began his defence, "you _ really _ needed it. So, I let you sleep for as long as you _ needed _."

Aziraphale had already quirked a brow at his tone. "How long?" He nearly growled.

"Just, you know, a few..." he coughed the rest of the reply that sounded a lot like _ weeks _.

_ "What?!" _ He nearly yelled, incredulous. _ " _ Repeat that will you, dear _ ? _ I could have sworn you just said _ weeks _," Aziraphale hissed angrily. 

Crowley grimaced and deflated, he looked around at the ogling crowd then gasped when he caught sight of the food. "You must be hungry!" He deflected. "Emily here made some of the best stew I've ever tasted. Here." Someone had already prepared a bowl and handed it to Crowley who shoved it at Aziraphale with a forced, toothy smile.

Aziraphale huffed and shook his head as he took the peace offering. He was famished, and the smells wafting up into his nostrils nearly sent him drooling for all to see. He let Crowley steer him to a blanket with a floor mat cushion. Crowley sat on the ground against the wall of their house and quickly put a pillow between his legs. He looked up at Aziraphale eagerly and patted the cushion before him.

Aziraphale hesitated only because he did not want to face away from Crowley but then saw Crowley's expression change from hopeful to uncertain, then to downright dread. His demon cast his eyes to the ground and went to move from where he sat, but Aziraphale stopped him by abruptly taking his seat and leaning against his companion. When Aziraphale was settled, Crowley placed his fingers lightly on Aziraphale's waist as if asking for permission to hold him. His angel relaxed into him and began to eat with gusto.

With newfound courage, Crowley wrapped his arms around his mate and rested his chin on his shoulder with a contented sigh.

Surprising everyone, himself included, Aziraphale let out an obscene moan as soon as he got a mouthful of broth and vegetables. He froze and glanced up from his bowl. Everyone was staring again. 

He gulped down his food and nodded to Emily. "It's delicious."

Crowley sniggered into his hair while the others laughed outright at his expense. Feeling his cheeks heat, Aziraphale smiled nervously and focused on eating his meal, quietly. Eventually, one of the humans pulled out a guitar and began to play soothing music.

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale's ear and whispered. "I've missed you."

Aziraphale shuddered and the heat in his cheeks spread throughout his entire body. Instead of responding kindly, he grumbled. "Wouldn't have missed me if you'd woken me sooner."

"Aw, c'mon, angel," Crowley groaned. "Go on, tell me you don't feel better. I dare you."

Aziraphale sighed. He did feel better. The centuries and horrors leading up to this moment felt distant and murky, like the most recent trials had happened ages instead of weeks ago. The weariness and aches in his body were gone. His injuries were all healed. He relented.

"I do," Aziraphale murmured. "That doesn't mean I like the idea of wasting so much time not _ living _ with you."

"I know." Crowley dragged his hand up to Aziraphale's chest, over his mark. "I'll make it up to you," he drawled.

Aziraphale shivered and placed his empty bowl on the ground. He leaned back and whispered into Crowley's cheek. "Start now by taking us home and into our bed."

Crowley flinched but then barely suppressed a growl. "All in due time." He squeezed Aziraphale tighter to him. "As much as I hate to say this, we need to make friends with these people."

Aziraphale scoffed as he scanned the company. The humans he could be friendly towards, and possibly Ramiel, but Moloch had been part of his platoon, and he doubted she had any interest in making friends with her cruel, former superior. When his eyes landed on Gabriel, he scowled. Then there was Uriel--

They were looking right at him, face blank. The corner of Aziraphale's mouth twitched as it usually did when he felt he was being challenged. Once upon a time, he would have caved under his colleague's stare and averted his gaze, stuttering over his words, and nervous. Now, Aziraphale held his gaze and even tilted his head with faux amused curiosity, challenging them to speak their mind. Their last encounter had not been pleasant.

Uriel's face contorted with anger as they kept their unblinking gaze upon him. "I wish Michael were here," they let out loudly.

The music and friendly chatter stopped. Crowley stiffened and hissed softly. 

"Uriel," Gabriel warned.

"Tell me, _ Azirath _," Uriel sneered, "did you feel anything at all when you murdered them for Satan?"

A few gasps were heard, but all remained quiet.

Aziraphale took his time to reply without breaking eye contact. He was tempted to sneer back and respond with something cruel and uncaring. Instead, he narrowed his eyes. "Did you feel anything for the five demons you destroyed in the war?"

Uriel's eyes widened.

Aziraphale could tell they were wondering how he knew the exact number of casualties. Simple, he made it his business to find out every detail of those who'd been slain in his search for Crowley.

Furious, Uriel looked at the fire before standing up and leaving.

Thankfully, the human who had been playing music started up another song to break the awkward silence. Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley caressed his arms and massaged his shoulders. 

After awhile of mild socializing and learning everyone's names, Gabriel strutted in their direction, to Aziraphale's dismay, and actually sat cross-legged near the lovers. 

The archangel sat at an angle where he could see Aziraphale and the rest of the group. He shimmied a bit closer to them and gave them an eager side glance.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

Gabriel pursed his lips and looked skyward. "Ah, nothing." A moment of silence passed. "You know Crowley has built on your theory. He thinks that the number of doves could be the number of angels missing from our ranks. I mean, the exact amount that would balance the scales on either side. That would be strange, wouldn't it? Almost too coincidental?" He kept his eyes forward.

"I suppose." 

"Kinda makes you wonder what She's really up to," Gabriel muttered. 

Aziraphale chuckled mirthlessly. He'd had this conversation before. "Ineffable," he whispered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Aziraphale pretended that Gabriel had not scooted even closer to them. He ignored the furtive glances. He also turned his attention to the fire.

After a long silence, Aziraphale lost his patience. "If you're expecting me to thank you for bringing us here, then you are sadly mistaken."

Gabriel snapped his gaze to Aziraphale and shook his head. "Oh, no, no. No. Nothing like that. I never expected a thank you. It's the least I could do." He nodded and stayed quite a moment longer. "I mean a show of gratitude is always nice--"

"Gabriel."

"Yeah, no. I get it." Gabriel scratched the back of his head, nervously. "Listen, I was hoping you could help me figure something out." He groaned audibly.

Thinking it had something to do with the white-winged demons, Aziraphale tried not to look too displeased. "What?" He nearly barked.

Gabriel rested his head in his hand and sighed heavily. When he resurfaced, he looked worn and vulnerable. "How did you know...?"

With a furrowed brow toward the angel, Aziraphale scoffed. "About the white wings? I didn't even really--"

"No," Gabriel clenched his hands into fists and looked at Crowley with a pained expression.

Aziraphale turned his head to find the demon asleep on his shoulder. His chest brimmed with affection. His expression softened before it contorted in horror when he realized what Gabriel was asking with an unspoken question. 

"Are you seeking to attain love advice from _ me _?" Aziraphale watched with amusement and satisfaction when Gabriel's cheeks flushed pink.

"Nevermind."

A snort escaped him before he could stop himself, then he chuckled in earnest as Gabriel grew more embarrassed. "You," he sniggered, "_ you _?"

Gabriel sighed. "Laugh it up. I expected you to anyway." He pouted petulantly. "Figures. Demons can't feel _ compassion _, I guess." He gasped and blanched at his own words. "I-I'm, oh, I'm sorry..."

Aziraphale took a steadying breath to quell his rising anger when his demon squirmed and grunted. _ What would Aziraphale do? _He found himself asking and nearly laughed aloud at himself. Easy. He'd be an angel. A bit of a bastard but still be an angel. Crowley had told him he was not two people, even though that was exactly how it felt most times. Compassion, Gabriel had said. Compassion required empathy, and he could certainly empathize. He let all of his old doubts and fears come to mind. 

"They feel the same," Aziraphale found himself saying with a hint of kindness that felt so alien to him.

Gabriel bore holes into Aziraphale's head. "What feels the same?"

"Not what. Who." He gave Gabriel a pointed look and quirked a brow. 

The pink turned to red and crept up to Gabriel's ears. "I, uh, don't know what you mean."

Aziraphale scoffed and shook his head. "Whatever kind of love angels are supposed to feel, I no longer feel it." He did not sound like he regretted it. "What use was it anyway?" he questioned the air around him. "Angels are still capable of cruelty, as much as any demon. I used to say that I was a being of love. But I could be cruel too. Crueller than you." He gave Gabriel a sad smile.

"The love of God that flows through us is a love for all Her creations. It's a love for everything. How can demons love anyone or anything without it?" Gabriel's face fell the longer he pondered on his words.

How many times had Aziraphale asked that question? Swearing to himself that demons were not capable of love. That Crowley could never really love him. Because he was missing his grace. He was less than.

Aziraphale closed his eyes at the grief threatening to take over. Instead, he answered the question with a question. "Where was your love for all creation when you eagerly awaited its destruction and bloodshed?"

Gabriel was deep in thought for a moment, probably about to regurgitate some old repeated lie that somewhere along the way had become truth. Gabriel's mouth dropped open several times before his shoulders slumped, and his eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "I don't understand," he said barely above a whisper. He clenched his fists again and shut his eyes. "I don't _ understand _." He turned his gaze back to the demon prince pleadingly like he would have the answers to all of his questions.

The look on Gabriel's face mirrored his own from long ago. For the first time in too long of a time, he took pity. Aziraphale had gone in circles over the course of history on the topic. He tried so hard to understand. Hoarding religious texts and prophesies in hopes he could gain insight into God's plans and expectations of him. But he never figured it out. Not really. At one point, he had settled on a few shreds of ideas that felt right. Then he gave up. If Her plan was ineffable, why bother trying to understand it?

"We're not meant to understand, Gabriel, but I do believe we are meant to try," Aziraphale finally replied with a small sense of peace. "You wouldn't have changed if you hadn't tried." 

Gabriel smiled sadly but proudly at the acknowledgement of his growth. "I've been trying a lot lately."

Aziraphale decided on putting him out of his misery. "Do you want to protect them from harm?"

The question left Gabriel off-kilter before he understood who he was referring to. "Yes," he said decisively. 

"Do want to care for them in every way? Attend to them? Please them?"

Gabriel's eyes widened, and he blushed again.

"It doesn't have to be sexually, Gabriel, grow up," he scolded dryly.

A few aborted efforts at speech led Gabriel to splutter out his response. "Y-yeah. Yes."

"Does seeing them, thinking about them, inspire joy even when it hurts?"

Gabriel let out a large puff of air like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Oh, God. So, I'm not going crazy. Feelings are so _ weird _."

A bubble of laughter burst from Aziraphale as he almost forgot who he was and who he was speaking to. "Quite."

"So, that's it, huh?" Gabriel uttered with sad acceptance. "I'm... in love."

"Seems like it," Aziraphale smiled wistfully and pressed a kiss to Crowley's temple.

"And..." Gabriel swallowed audibly, "they feel the same?"

"I believe so, but you should ask."

The archangel nearly choked on air. "I can't do that. What if-what if they don't? Then-then..."

"Gabriel," Aziraphale's tone was commanding. "Just because we're immortal, doesn't make us immune to the wickedness of time." He pushed away his regrets. "Time is precious. Make the most of it." With that, Aziraphale nudged Crowley awake. "Come on, love," he smirked at the bleary-eyed demon. "Let's get you to bed."

They walked slowly and silently, their arms wrapped around each other's waists.

"So, many wise wordsss," Crowley drawled with a knowing smile.

"Heard all that, did you? I thought you were asleep." Aziraphale whacked his shoulder lightly and playfully.

Crowley chuckled. "I'm a demon of many talents." He waggled his eyebrows which he thought would make Aziraphale laugh. Instead, his husband grinned wickedly and nodded in assent. Crowley tried not to blush and failed.

Aziraphale continued to rake his eyes hungrily over Crowley as they entered their home. The little pep talk with Gabriel had Aziraphale’s heart beating in a frenzy. The demon before him had been the centre of his world for so long, and for just as long he’d been out of reach. All for not. The waiting, the worrying, the delays, doubts, and fears had been a waste. He should have trusted his love for Crowley. Should have had faith in his demon who did nothing but show how much he loved him. Should have given him the holy water without hesitation and asked for Hellfire in return. 

The words of an old acquaintance came to mind; “_ Regrets are illuminations come too late.” _

But it wasn’t too late. It had almost been, but now Crowley was more than within reach. He was right there, stretching his arms up and yawning as he swayed toward their bed. Aziraphale would never waste another moment. He would fight. He would fight for Crowley. He would fight all of Heaven and Hell, and the whole blasted world if he had to.

_ But I don’t have to, _ he thought suddenly _ , I just have to fight _ for _ the world. _ For a world he’d be able to keep Crowley in, safe and thoroughly loved for all of eternity. And he didn’t have to fight all of Heaven and Hell either. He just needed to fight _ alongside _ them against a common enemy. 

For the world. For Crowley, _ his _ world.

Love, affection, tenderness. One would think those feelings as soft and warm, but filled with enough of that heady mixture and it could turn a heart ablaze with righteous fury and fierce devotion. A hasty intensity surged within Aziraphale and he could no longer wrangle the raging fires within him.

Crowley was blissfully unaware of the tumultuous storm of emotions threatening to spill from Aziraphale. He dragged his fingers through his hair to tuck loose waves behind his ear. "Those things you said to Gabriel. They were _ nice _." 

With a startled yelp, Crowley was slammed against a wall, a ravenous demon sneering up at him.

"Shut it," Aziraphale growled. "I'm not _ nice." _He made sure the lust and everything else he was feeling was unhindered as he pressed himself into Crowley.

Crowley's eyes were wide with shock, and he shuddered when wave after wave of desire and all consuming love crashed through him. _ " _ Oh, fffuck _ me _," he rasped.

"That is the plan, rather." Aziraphale managed to say before going to his knees.

_ What was that bit that old Henry had written in his Psalm of Life? _ Aziraphale wondered for a brief moment. 

_ “Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! _

_ Let the dead Past bury its dead! _

_ Act,— act in the living Present! _

_ Heart within, and God o’erhead!” _

Well, God or no God overhead, Aziraphale intended to act and live in the present, and fight for it all if necessary. It would be necessary, this he knew. But that worry was for another day. Not today.

_ Not today. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did any of you pick up on the clues? What are your thoughts?!
> 
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> Have an awesome week!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied AGAIN! I said 19 chapters... it will be 20... I'm pretty sure this time...
> 
> I may or may not be able to post next week because we are moving to Los Vegas... um... this week? Maybe next week. I'll try my best regardless.
> 
> THANK YOU BETA's Azeran and Tim!! 
> 
> There is more Azirath art by OwlVirus!! Azirath is feral and looks kickass!  
[CLICK HERE](https://www.deviantart.com/owlvirus/art/Demon-Aziraphale-Feral-822977263) to see it!

Crowley was worried. 

Everything _ seemed _ fine, fantastic actually. They were safe and living an incredibly domestic dream life. Aziraphale appeared to be thriving, increasingly so after he'd woken from his near month-long nap, and it had been three months and six days since then. His angel was livelier, had a pep to his step most days now that was definitely not there before, started wearing lighter colours. Shit, he'd even _ wiggled _ once! Crowley had been wide-eyed and speechless as soon as he'd witnessed it and had to rush outside, muttering some silly excuse so he would not break into fitful sobs in front of his angel, like the lovestruck sop that he was. Crowley cherished that moment like a small, precious treasure and he hoped to behold it again soon. 

Aziraphale seemed, well, happy - most of the time.

Aziraphale had taken up cooking after their neighbour, Emily, offered to teach him how to make her famous stew. Crowley thought that Aziraphale would dryly but politely refuse the offer, and then his angel surprised him when he happily took her up on it. Since then, Aziraphale cooked up a storm whenever he was able, whether successful or not. 

There had been a day that Aziraphale tasted some concoction of his own invention but tutted and sighed dramatically. Crowley's ears perked up. Those were the telltale signs that his angel was displeased and was about to offhandedly make a request of Crowley without actually _ asking him _ to do it. 

It was their age-old dance. A to and fro they partook in whenever their paths crossed - whether intentionally or not. Aziraphale would make some remark or complaint, then Crowley would play hard to get in his casual and cool way, then it would be Aziraphale's turn to pout and beg with his eyes. Finally, Crowley would cave in, as if he never intended to, but they both knew he always would. Crowley loved it, lived for it.

So, at that moment, Crowley waited with a smirk for Aziraphale to begin their dance, only for Aziraphale to open his mouth and then shut it quickly.

Instead, Aziraphale approached Crowley timidly. "Might I bother you a moment, dear," Aziraphale had asked nervously. "I was wondering if, if, I could request a few, um, herbs and vegetables for the garden." Crowley had blinked a few times, waiting for more, but when he realised that Aziraphale was sincere with his mundane and silly request, Crowley nearly barked out a laugh. It would have been hilarious had Crowley not seen the clear apprehension on Aziraphale's face as he waited for Crowley's answer. 

Aziraphale used to "ask" for all sorts of silly things, not necessarily _ small _ favours, but _ silly _ ones, Crowley would practically trip over himself to indulge him. It was just their _ thing _! And now the thing was gone.

The simple request for him to plant readily available seeds for the most basic and easily grown - _vegetables for shit's sake_ \- had caused Aziraphale real distress. Crowley could not understand why. So, instead of circling and trying to engage in their age-old dance, Crowley smiled and acted as casual as possible. "Of course, angel. Been meaning to expand the garden. Why don't you make a list of the things you'd like, and I'll get right to it." He'd thrown in a wink for good measure.

The look of relief and gratitude in his angel's whole body language nearly broke Crowley's heart. The rest of that day, Aziraphale stopped himself from asking anything of Crowley. Like when he cut himself off from asking Crowley to pass the salt, or toss him a towel, or open the window. It was small instances like that which made Crowley worry. 

Then there was the sex. In the manor, Aziraphale was never apprehensive about initiating. After he had woken from his sleep, his angel had no issue whatsoever pinning Crowley to the wall and taking him into his mouth like a starved animal. When they got into bed to move onto a proper shag, Aziraphale had gone pale all of a sudden and froze. 

"I, I, oh dear, I didn't ask," Aziraphale had breathed in panic.

Crowley had been instantly worried that it had something to do with some life-threatening calamity, as par for the course. "What? What's wrong?"

His angel had been positively petrified. "I should have asked you if, if, well, if you wanted... to... do this."

Crowley's jaw had positively dropped open in shock. "Of course, I do! What do you mean, you should have asked?" Aziraphale seemed instantly relieved and deflected the question by stroking his cock.

Since then, Aziraphale approached him cautiously, with small touches, coy smiles, and hungry eyes, but never really initiated things unless Crowley took the hint. If Crowley wouldn't, just to see what Aziraphale would do, his angel would simply give him a peck on the cheek and busy himself with something else.

Crowley had a theory, and it wasn't one he liked at all. Perhaps Aziraphale was so traumatised by their last encounter with Satan that maybe he thought Crowley would no longer desire him. Being almost incapable of asking Crowley for almost anything was probably Aziraphale's way of trying to "keep" Crowley. And-- 

_ Oh no. What if he hasn't wanted to be intimate at all and just trying to keep me happy and thinks I'd leave him if he doesn't put out?! _

All of it was ridiculous to Crowley, of course, but what else could it be? He blamed himself, mostly. Crowley knew they needed to talk about what happened. He also knew that Aziraphale would not be the one to bring it up, and Crowley had promised himself to be better at that sort of thing.

He just didn't know how to approach the issue or when was the best time to bring it up. Crowley was not the type to go and get advice. Maybe it had to do with not being able to trust anyone other than Aziraphale with his issues. Even then, it was like pulling out perfectly good feathers. It was really almost physically painful. His stomach was always out of sorts whenever he showed any vulnerability like that, he felt too exposed. Plus, he was a demon. He'd been a lone agent, always doing things his way. The Arrangement was purely Crowley's way of getting close to Aziraphale, not because he really needed the help.

Pondering on his dilemma while planting what Aziraphale wanted for his cooking experiments, Ramiel spotted him.

"Why so glum, chum?" Ramiel laughed. "That is how it goes, yes?" 

Crowley smirked and nodded. The new residents of what everyone jokingly started calling Heathenville were growing in numbers and intermingling pretty well. The humans made all the difference. They were the ones who gathered enough courage to insert themselves into their lives, always curious and always willing to teach both demons and angels a thing or two. The new demons were still suspicious of their intent. That would probably not change anytime soon. At least there were very few incidents that caused a bit of disharmony among their new community. Any row was quickly diffused by a demon's better half, or a well-meaning passerby. 

Ramiel and Moloch were often sought out by other pairs. Crowley and Aziraphale were seldom approached because of Aziraphale's reputation, though Gabriel made a point to always seek advice from them. And Crowley made a point in taking Aziraphale to any and all social gatherings.

Maybe, Crowley thought, Ramiel was the best bloke to ask for a little guidance. 

"Erm, I've just got something on my mind," Crowley confessed and scratched the back of his head nervously.

Ramiel's smile faltered. "Anything I can do to help?"

Crowley almost laughed. The recently Fallen still had more angel than demon in them. Maybe it had something to do with being a dove. 

Crowley approached Ramiel and led him a bit further from the house. "I want to talk to Aziraphale about something, erm, serious. I don't know how to bring it up though, it's uh, a sensitive issue."

"Afraid to hurt his feelings, or...?

Crowley sighed and cleared his throat. "It's hard to talk about it. It's, uh, hard for _ me _ to talk about it. I'm sure it'll be just as difficult or more for Aziraphale to discuss it."

Ramiel looked thoughtful. "Well, words sometimes make certain things tough to express. It seems like _ talking _ may not be the best option for either of you, so don't talk about it." He shrugged.

Crowley blinked a few times and grimaced. "Repressing it doesn't seem to be helping."

"Oh, no. That's not what I meant at all!" He chuckled and patted Crowley's shoulder awkwardly. "I mean _ physically, don't _ talk. Don't use words! Communicate in our First language."

"Oh." Crowley made to speak other words, but nothing intelligible came forth. Ramiel was a genius. Though it was his least favourite way of communicating with fellow demons, the idea of doing it with Aziraphale rather excited him. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Ramiel looked to the ground sheepishly. "I believe you two are more ingrained in the physical world than any immortal I know. Gone pretty native." He laughed softly and gave Crowley a tentative smile. "If the sounds from your home when you forget to close your windows are anything to go by." Ramiel pursed his lips and glanced away again.

Crowley's face burned with embarrassment. "Ah." He cleared his throat and shifted in place. "I see your point."

Ramiel nodded and took in a loud breath as if readying to blurt something out before he could change his mind. "It's sort of why I came by today actually..." he coughed toward the end, and his discomfort visibly grew.

Crowley quirked a brow and frowned. "Yeah? Well, I'll try to remember the... windows."

"Oh, no, no!" Ramiel scratched the stubble on his throat. "You see, Moloch has, erm, expressed interest in, uh, making..." he cleared his throat again and spoke in a lower and hushed tone, "making an Effort."

Crowley spluttered and choked on his own saliva, punching his chest to clear his airways. Ramiel had come for sex advice. _ How utterly mortifying. _

* * *

Aziraphale was worried. 

Everything _ appeared _ wonderful, fabulous, actually. They were far from harm, they were living an amazingly tranquil ideal life, really. Other than Crowley's long term memory issues, which they worked on every day, his demon seemed at peace most days. Crowley's smile was more natural and relaxed. He was easy to laugh. He loved his garden so very much, anyone could tell. It filled Aziraphale's heart with joy whenever he caught Crowley whispering to the extensive flora, even though he was probably threatening them under his breath most of the time. Still, Crowley was in his element when among his plants, shoots, and seedlings. He was always too filthy to come into their home, but Aziraphale didn't mind helping rid the dirt in their private washroom. Bathing one another had become a lovely ritual between them that they continued to engage in. 

Crowley's absent moments were still concerning for Aziraphale, and it looked like those moments happened more frequently as time went by. Sometimes he'd let Crowley come back on his own to see how long the spells lasted. A few minutes at a time was usual, but sometimes it would go for over half an hour, and Aziraphale could not stop himself from waking Crowley from whatever was going on in his mind. He lived with the constant underlying anxiety that Crowley would not be able to resurface one day, and his eyes would stay lifeless for who knows how long if not permanently. He could not live through that again.

His demon was always reassuring after his episodes, pushing Aziraphale's fear away with witty comments and sweet words and kisses. Still, he wondered how much Crowley was keeping from him. What was even more worrisome for Aziraphale were his own _ episodes _. Sometimes something would trigger the demon in him, flashes of memory or catastrophic, imaginary scenarios. Nothing serious had occurred, yet, but he did break things in his disorientation sometimes and have a deep urge to strangle someone. Aziraphale was quite sure Crowley never witnesses him in such a state and he planned to keep it that way.

Then there was the sex. Crowley hardly initiated intimacy anymore, and when he did, it was cautiously, and always with a hint of fear in his eyes. Aziraphale would approach just a bit tentatively, looking for any sign that Crowley was not in the mood, never pressuring or surprising him. Even then, Crowley would sometimes stiffen or give him a questioning look. Aziraphale had no idea what to do about it and blamed himself for not bringing up the traumatic events before they arrived at the sanctuary. Months had already gone by! It seemed too late to broach the subject now, out of nowhere.

What if Crowley was merely trying to appease Aziraphale? What if Crowley was no longer interested in sex because of what had happened and he was suffering in silence like he always did? It was a horrifying thought, but he wanted to assure Crowley that it would not change the way he felt about him. Aziraphale wanted Crowley to know that his love for him would never diminish no matter what. 

True, Aziraphale had gotten into the occasional habit of carnal pleasures and felt his urges as strongly as he craved the taste of delicious foods, but he didn't _ need _ it. At least, he could stave off the desire by willing away the necessary parts for the act, and if that didn't work, he could always take care of matters himself. It's not like Crowley shied away from _ all _physical affection. He loved cuddling, grooming, embracing, and kissing. It was more than enough for Aziraphale, though he still mourned the idea of possibly losing the more intimate closeness, of bringing Crowley pleasure, of coming apart in each other's arms.

Aziraphale shook himself out of it. Crowley had been so patient with him, indulged him for so long. It was only fair to return the favour. It was why Aziraphale tried turning the tables. He waited on Crowley as much as he could. He took mental notes of Crowley's likes and habits and was now an expert at anticipating Crowley's needs. He was determined to make Crowley happy. He'd do anything to make sure Crowley felt safe and cherished, even if that meant waiting six thousand years or forever for it to happen. Aziraphale had to bring it up. He just didn't know how.

A laugh from outside drew Aziraphale's attention away from his thoughts. He walked to the window and caught sight of Ramiel chatting with Crowley, his hand on Crowley's shoulder. Aziraphale smiled. Although he'd been reluctant at first to get to know the other pairs or anyone for that matter, he was glad that Crowley pushed him into society. It made him feel _ normal _. Like his old self. 

It did not go unnoticed that most everyone stayed a safe distance away from Aziraphale. He really could not blame them. At the beginning of their stay at the sanctuary, while Aziraphale was asleep, some humans anonymously left gifts at their front door. He ventured to guess it was his rescues and just the thought of Crowley accepting the presents on his behalf was absolutely mortifying. Thankfully, there wasn't much of that happening anymore, and Aziraphale made sure to get rid of the evidence of their flighty visits. At least they had the decency to stay unnamed and used others to deliver the goods for them.

The only others who dared approach their door were their human neighbours. Gabriel, as much as Aziraphale abhorred the thought of his persistent visits, found he was welcomed with warmer greetings than he used to be. Aziraphale could not help it. As time went by, he did feel a sense of loneliness, only because it was evident most angels and demons feared him. Gabriel had also been his former supervisor, and it was a real feather in Aziraphale's wing to have his old boss asking him for advice. It was nice.

If the immortals came near, Crowley was always their first point of contact, not Aziraphale. Once upon a time, he would have preferred it. Now, it was disheartening. A constant reminder of what he had become and how much harm he had caused. Crowley assured him it would all "blow over" someday. Aziraphale was not as optimistic, but he tried to be, for Crowley's sake.

A loud snort came from Crowley while Ramiel looked particularly embarrassed. Aziraphale squinted. Was that a coy smile on Ramiel’s face? That struck Aziraphale as odd. He lingered by the window and watched their exchange with curiosity. Crowley seemed flushed. He was kicking at the dirt idly, which meant he was either uncomfortable with the situation or--

Ramiel drew closer to Crowley, much closer than Aziraphale liked, and whispered into Crowley's ear. The spy was dismayed to hear a lovely giggle come from his demon. 

What was happening?

A warm sensation crawled up Aziraphale's neck, up to his head. His breath was shallow, his fists clenched, and his nostrils flared.

Jealousy.

Aziraphale was jealous. For a moment he wanted to laugh at himself for how ridiculous that was. There was nothing to be jealous of!

Sure, Ramiel was tall and handsome. Sure, the other dove was charming and easy to talk to. Sure, he'd managed to keep his hands clean despite his Fall and was still more angel than demon...

At that moment, Crowley laughed again and gave Ramiel a pat on the shoulder that lingered just a bit too long for Aziraphale's taste. Ramiel opened his arms wide, and before Aziraphale could understand what was happening, Ramiel took Crowley into his arms and embraced him.

_ Lucifer was holding him. Caressing him. Kissing him. _

Red.

Everything was red.

Someone's breathing had turned to wheezes, and he could hear growling as well. _ Oh _. It was Aziraphale.

Vision still tinted crimson, Aziraphale pursed his lips and tried to use logic to dispel the overwhelming sensation of unadulterated rage. 

Ramiel had already ended the hug. The demons were smiling awkwardly at each other and exchanged quiet words. Crowley seemed bashful, flirtatious even. Aziraphale knew without a doubt that Crowley's love belonged to him alone, but the closeness was odd. Ramiel and the other immortals usually shied away from touch. What was the bastard’s angle anyway?! He had a companion! Why did he have his pristine, slender hands on his demon?! Why was the snake not recoiling at his touch and instead welcoming the familiarity with open, albeit clumsy, arms?!

_ Lucifer was dragging him away. _

Logic was not helping.

Without realising it, Aziraphale was outside staring at the two demons who appeared startled.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley called out cautiously, lifting his hands up slowly as he took a step toward him. "What's wrong, angel?" Another step forward.

Aziraphale felt confused and angry. Was he not enough for Crowley? Obviously. He already knew that. He thought to respect Crowley's space was the right thing to do. He'd let him run into the arms of another. It was too late. Crowley had finally found out that Aziraphale was lacking. Ramiel was a much better companion for him. Pure. The closest thing to an angel than all the other demons and doves in the sanctuary.

The pain pooled and swirled in his chest, in his belly, in his head. "Crowley..." he let out in such a small voice that he wondered if he'd said it aloud at all.

"Aziraphale, just take a breath," Crowley replied gently. "Everything is alright." He nodded slowly and took more steps toward him. "Ramiel, I think you should go," he muttered.

Aziraphale's gaze had not left the dove before him. Ramiel looked terrified as he walked backwards.

Red turned to black and Aziraphale was rooted in place by strong arms. 

"Breathe, angel, please," Crowley murmured into his hair. "It's alright. I'm here. Tell me what's wrong."

Hands rubbed at Aziraphale's back, and Crowley's scent washed over him as he did what he was told and breathed. He shuddered and relaxed into Crowley's embrace. Calm started to settle within him, and his senses returned. It was dark, and Crowley's presence was all-consuming. Gradually, Aziraphale realised that Crowley had cocooned them in his wings. Shame struck him like a punch to the gut.

"Oh, God," Aziraphale breathed, "I'm so sorry." 

He continued a long string of apologies, utterly horrified by his behaviour. Crowley continued to console him with words and warm affection until Aziraphale had calmed. The shiny black wings lifted and disappeared. Ramiel was still there, further away from before but stood ready to act at a moments notice, white wings flared behind him.

Aziraphale could barely stand to look at either of them but knew he had to apologise to their guest, Crowley's friend. A friend.

"Ramiel," Aziraphale pleaded, "I'm-I-I'm," he took a long inhale to steady his nerves, "my deepest apologies. I don't-I don't know what came over me."

"I think I have a pretty good idea," Ramiel replied evenly and nodded. "Are you all right?"

No. Was what Aziraphale wanted to say. "I... I will be. Forgive me," he added quickly.

"Forgiven," Ramiel replied genuinely. "Go in peace, Aziraphale. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not your fault, Ramiel," said Crowley. "It had nothing to do with you. Right, angel?" Crowley gave his angel's shoulders a squeeze. "Just some unresolved issues we've left to fester for too long, right, love?"

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and Lucifer stared back. He snapped his eyes open again and nodded in assent quickly.

Crowley didn't even turn to Ramiel as he dismissed him. "Thank you for the advice, friend. I'm going to put it to use right now."

"And thank you for yours," Ramiel cleared his throat. "I might also put it to use, um, very soon."

Aziraphale was led inside their home before he could say anything more. As soon as Crowley closed the door behind him, he whirled around and grabbed Aziraphale's face.

"_ Aziraphale _ ," Crowley drawled, "what the Heaven was _ that _?" He wasn't angry but was most assuredly concerned. 

Aziraphale swallowed hard. "Well," he tried to explain, "I believe I was," he let out a single mirthless laugh, "jealous."

Crowley shook his head, eyes wide. "Bloody hell, angel, if that was jealousy, remind me never to even accidentally graze another being again."

Aziraphale covered Crowley's hands with his own, still cupping his face, and looked directly into his eyes. He smiled weakly. "I think you were correct in your deduction. I saw..." he shuddered. "I remembered - it happens when --"

"I understand. I see it too. Too often." A mixture of concern and guilt took over Crowley's features. "Come, we need to talk." 

Well, those words struck fear into Aziraphale's heart.

Crowley led them to the bed. "Come here," he smiled gently and pulled Aziraphale to sit cross-legged on the mattress facing him.

Before Crowley could get a word in, Aziraphale felt an urgent need to explain himself. "I'm so sorry, Crowley. These past couple of months have been so lovely, and I've ruined it. I tried so hard to be patient and give you space. Of course, I want you to have friends. You should have friends. I can do better, I know I can. It's just that I've missed how easy it was at the start of it all, you see, and I'm not sure how to act now. You don't have to pretend for my sake--"

"Whoa-whoa-whoa!" Crowley interrupted, waving his hands in front of him. "Pretend to what?"

"Well, to want, you know, to want me... physically. I can see how uncomfortable it is for you and I should have brought it up sooner--"

Crowley sniggered and covered his face with his hands. "Oh 'ziraphale," he muffled into his palms, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

Aziraphale waited, not very patiently, for Crowley's hysterics to subside. This was an urgent and serious matter, after all. No one should be laughing. "What?"

His demon finally resurfaced with the corners of his open mouth turned up in a disbelieving smile. "Well, angel, as usual," he chuckled, "our communication skills are bloody brilliant. Fantastic." He kissed his fingers like he'd just tasted a gourmet meal and laughed openly again at his angels confused face. "Come here." He took Aziraphale's hands and placed them on his chest and leaned into Aziraphale to rest their foreheads together. "Go on. Take a look." Crowley closed his eyes and took even breaths.

It was several moments before Aziraphale understood what Crowley meant. His demon wanted to share his thoughts with him, literally. It was an archaic form of communication that was used when the angels were all new and more connected than they were now. To Aziraphale's surprise, Hell still used it and forced it on the demons occasionally to relay secret instructions. It had always felt like an intrusion on his mind save for when Crowley used it in his serpent form to communicate, he was always quiet and gentle. Now here was Crowley open and willing to let Aziraphale in completely. It nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Aziraphale concentrated, it'd been so long since he'd done it he wasn't sure he'd be able to. The intention was all he needed. Gently, Aziraphale slipped within Crowley's essence and almost jolted back out from the information he received all at once. It wasn't just thoughts, it was feelings too. Crowley had nothing but fierce, possessive love for Aziraphale, and it made his chest want to explode with joy. Ramiel didn't occupy a space within him at all. His jealousy was, of course, unwarranted. 

After the tender feelings came the darkness. The worries, the panic, the anxiety for Aziraphale's wellbeing. The memories of that awful night in Satan's castle came forth from Crowley's perspective, and Aziraphale gasped as he watched himself through Crowley's eyes. There was so much anger and guilt. So much remorse for even bringing it up. 

They shared the same fears for each other, as it happened, for the exact same reasons. They were both so wrong. Aziraphale now understood why Crowley had found some amusement in it all. There was just one thing in particular that Aziraphale needed to clear up.

Aziraphale ended their connection and thumbed Crowley's wet cheek. "Oh, Crowley," he uttered lovingly, "thank you." He waited for the demon to open his eyes. "But you must know, my dear, he never did."

Crowley gulped and blinked. "You mean..."

"My love, I thought you knew. I thought you saw, but you didn't." He smiled sadly, "we were wrong."

"What? Wrong about what?" Crowley suddenly felt desperate. 

Aziraphale pursed his lips and tried to form his words in his mind before he spoke them. "I've pondered on it a lot, on our theory and what, well, what happened that night. I don't think I was ever an object of Lucifer's, erm, _ affections, _as it were."

Crowley frowned and furrowed his brow with confusion. "But I saw him--"

"You didn't," Aziraphale sighed, "he certainly made it _ seem _ like he did, but, oh goodness," he shrugged and gave an uncomfortable scoff, "he never made an _ Effort _, if you get my meaning."

Shock was not a good enough word to describe what happened to Crowley at that moment. His entire mind had gone completely blank, and it wasn't until Aziraphale shook him back into himself that Crowley gasped.

"What are you on about? What do you mean? He-he-he--"

"He did awful things," Aziraphale nodded and stroked Crowley's tense shoulders that were by his ears. "Unforgivable things, and yet he never had any intention of fulfilling his threat. I'm sure he thought he didn't have to. It was never about me, Crowley. I don't even think it was about you. He was playing a disgusting game just to use you. Just to prove he was right. And I believe, had the blasts not gone off at that precise moment, his farce would have worked."

_ Yeah, it would have _, Crowley thought, remembering how he had almost given himself away. Crowley felt dizzy. He let himself fall into Azirphale's arms. "Bollocks. Are you sure? Maybe he was just-just--"

"Flacid?" Aziraphale chuckled mirthlessly. "No. There was nothing. Trust me, Crowley, I would have felt it. I'd offer you my memories in return, but I don't want you to go through that again." He raked his fingers through Crowley's hair and began to undo the plait.

"If it was never you, then who?" Crowley wondered aloud.

"Maybe there isn't anyone," Aziraphale replied, though he felt differently.

"That's madness, Aziraphale," Crowley whispered with disbelief. "After everything he put us through, he was just having a laugh?"

Aziraphale hummed in agreement. The dove continued his ministrations for a long while, brushing his demon's locks with gentle care. Ramiel came to mind again, and he sighed with shame.

"I imagine that my behaviour earlier will not help my reputation in the least."

Crowley chuckled. "No one else saw you go rabid, angel, don't worry."

Aziraphale frowned, not liking the comparison to a rabid animal however fitting it was. "Maybe we should invite Ramiel and Moloch for dinner," Aziraphale mused aloud. "I think I've quite gotten the hang of Emily's meat pies."

"Mhm."

"What _ were _ you two giggling about out there anyway?" Aziraphale's tone could have been less accusatory, but he couldn't help it.

"Oh," Crowley laughed, "Moloch heard us fucking, and now she wants to give it a go."

"Good lord!"

* * *

_ Eight years later... _

For the most part, Adam’s days were quiet, but the quiet only grew louder with time. Once again, he had no one. Just Satan, who insisted Adam continue his training and rule beside him. The Antichrist spent a lot of time with the Devil these days. The boy didn’t really have a choice. And, really, Satan wasn’t so bad. When they were alone, Lucifer would ask him questions, engage in conversation, and at least try to understand him and get to know him. 

His old friends were far in distant lands and wanted nothing to do with him. His new friends abandoned him the first chance they got. They were never his friends, he realised sadly. They did what they had to do to survive. It was the only reason either of them had put up with him. There were moments that he could remember how genuine Crowley was, moments he could see past his pain and see the remorse in Crowley’s face as he left Adam behind. There were even times that Adam could pick out memories of Aziraphale looking proud and pleased with his learning. Loneliness is a poison that, left untreated, will strip those precious and happy moments away from the soul.

That is how Adam felt now more than ever, stripped of hope and love, leaving only despair and resentment behind. Oh, and he was angry. He was so, so angry most days now. He wished he’d never met Crowley and Aziraphale, but his wishes never came true anymore. 

“Adam.”

The Antichrist was brought out of his miserable musings by Satan calling. He’d almost forgotten the council had convened, what was left of it. Death stopped showing up, his seat a formality anyway. Aziraphale was who knows where by now. Belphegor had been melted by Holy water in the battle on the castle grounds. Satan was in no hurry to replace his “advisors.”

Adam looked to Aziraphale’s empty seat before gazing up at his father. “Yes?”

Lucifer placed a clawed hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Buck up, my son. We will find every traitor in due time. They will be punished, but I need your help.” He bent low to meet Adam’s empty gaze directly. “You want them punished, do you not?”

Adam nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” His voice was strong and even.

“Now, you mentioned earlier that you had something of great importance to bring to the council. You said,” Satan paused and pursed his lips, “that there is another traitor among us. Do you still believe that?”

Adam nodded again. “Yes.” Though his voice held no emotion, the tension in his body could not be mistaken for anything other than fury.

“You said they were right here. Under my nose this whole time,” Lucifer whispered dangerously. “Tell me who. All you have to do is point them out, and I promise you,” Lucifer smiled evilly, “their punishment will be for you to decide. You can be as lenient or as harsh as you desire.” He gave Adam’s shoulder a squeeze. “Now, go on. Point them out.”

Eyes still locked on his father, Adam slowly raised an arm, uncurled a finger, and pointed.

Lucifer didn’t even have to look. He grinned wickedly and tutted. “How disappointing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you missed in the beginning notes...
> 
> There is more Azirath art by OwlVirus!!  
[CLICK HERE](https://www.deviantart.com/owlvirus/art/Demon-Aziraphale-Feral-822977263) to see it!
> 
> I know... a cliffhanger. Oh, Adam, Adam, Adam... Are you surprised? I think you all know who he pointed at.
> 
> Thoughts? Theories? Let'em roll! I will especially cherish comments this week because they will carry me through all the stress of, idk, changing my whole life in less than a week... ha.
> 
> Have a lovely week everyone! As always, you can find me on IG and tumblr but I'm more active on Insta! @mordellestories


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! At least, I hope it is for you all. I just got internet today and my progress has been slow because of the move and being a full-time work-at-home momma. Unpacking, cleaning, voiceovers, playing with my three year old who has been EXTRA needy... I have made no progress on chapter 19. Now with Christmas and New Years? It's going to be very hard to find time to write until I can find a nice pre-school for my kid. However, you know I can't go long without writing and chapter 19 is completely outlined. After that will be the epilogue and then I'm moving on to finish my other WIP's!
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran and Tim!!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and interactions on IG! I feel like I have my own little fandom family and it's wonderful!
> 
> ***WARNING: ANIMAL DEATH AND A SMALL LEMON***

A white dove, the bird kind, diverted away from its small flock. It struggled to keep up with its family, but Aziraphale could tell it was not going to make it. The symbolism was just too close to home. Was he going to make it? Would he be able to keep up in the new world they were building? He was already struggling. So very far from himself that he didn't think he could ever fit in with the rest. But that had always been the case, had it not? Aziraphale watched with quiet anxiety as the dove tumbled in the air, righted itself, then plunged again until it smacked right into the field of sugarcane where he and Crowley were working.

It was only a few feet away, dead. 

"Got some more? I ran out," Crowley called out to Aziraphale with an outstretched arm behind him. 

Aziraphale was frozen in place as sadness took hold. If he were a fictional character, in some fantastical story from one of his old books, he'd say that was the most apparent foreshadowing he'd ever seen. 

A long moment passed, and Crowley waved his hand with impatience. "Angel? Stems, please." 

Maybe it _ was _ foreshadowing. God was the author of their story, after all. She always loved a good story, notwithstanding whether there was a sad or happy ending. At the very least, it was metaphorical. Perhaps She knew that Aziraphale's efforts in capturing some of his former Grace were futile. 

It wasn't like he'd made no progress at all, as Crowley would continue to remind him. Aziraphale was in the good graces of his immediate neighbours now, and most of the other angels that Gabriel had gathered into his brain trust. Uriel was still standoffish and mostly ignored him, but they were civil now. Nevertheless, nearly a decade later and Aziraphale continued to be met with wary or blameful glances, murmurs behind his back, or obvious avoidance. 

Crowley tried to convince him that all demons were treated the same way, but Aziraphale knew better. His blind anger had caused a few more episodes, and although it had been years since the last one, even _ he _ didn't know if or when something would set him off again. At least he had never hurt Crowley in those instances. That was Aziraphale's primary concern, but Crowley always proved to be the perfect balm for the pain that would sometimes send him over the edge. 

Crowley turned away from his work and looked up to find Aziraphale, holding two stems in his hands by his sides. He was staring unblinkingly at the ground. When Crowley looked to where his angel's gaze had landed, his breath hitched. He looked from Aziraphale to the dead pigeon and sighed. 

"Fell out of the sky," Aziraphale mumbled, "bad omen, wouldn't you say?"

Crowley almost scrambled to get up and marched over to the white lump on the ground. He picked it up and brought it to his angel, whose face was blank and pale.

"Would you like to do the honours?" Crowley asked. When Aziraphale continued to just stare at the wretched thing, Crowley pulsed a bit of power into the bird, and it came to life in his grasp. It fought and fluttered against Crowley, pecking at his fingers. "Ungrateful little bugger. Off you pop!" He threw his hands into the air, and the dove flew off in search of its flock.

Aziraphale watched the dove soar, and he smiled wistfully. Whether Aziraphale would fly or fall, Crowley would always be there to make sure he'd make it.

Crowley wiped his hands on his dirt dusted tunic, then placed them on Aziraphale's shoulders, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Love, if dead pigeons were a bad omen, then I shudder to think how much bad luck we're still in for due to your terrible magic tricks."

Aziraphale managed an amused scoff. "I suppose we've paid our debts to the misfortunate Columbidae after everything we've been through."

"Oh, absolutely," Crowley nodded and placed a tender kiss to his angel's lips. "Paid in full and with interest." He smiled and tucked silver tresses behind Aziraphale's ear. Crowley glanced around discreetly and smirked. "Fancy a shag out here?"

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow and was about retort when a horn blew, signalling the arrival of Gabriel and his new recruits.

"Ngh," Crowley groaned, "it's like his full-time job now, interrupting us."

Aziraphale chuckled, grabbed Crowley by the collar and dragged him to the crowd gathering at their gates.

Heathenville (the name stuck) was bustling with humans, angels and demons alike. All were working together to finish construction on the homes, education, and medical centres. Once the witches had warded against miracle detection and the like, everything finally came together. 

The town was a creature, in and of itself, alive and breathing. It may have been smaller than the neighbouring city of the sanctuary, but it was thriving just as much, and the inhabitants were proud of their hard work. The vegetation expansion, led by Crowley, had brought with it all manner of animals, large and small. The trees were vibrant and growing speedily, giving their town a foresty look, like something out of a fairytale. Heathenville was like a new Eden, as self-sustaining as it was beautiful, not despite its odd mix of inhabitants, but because of it.

Gabriel and Ramiel led a group of demons down toward the town. Most everyone was gathered to welcome them. It was an essential tradition so that every newcomer would know the importance of cohabiting in harmony. Or as much peace as possible. There were always bound to be hiccups.

Once everyone was settled, Gabriel took centre stage and addressed the crowd, miracling his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. 

"Welcome to your new home!" Gabriel exclaimed, opening his arms wide and turning in a circle. "Here, you will find refuge but most importantly, friends. We've all had a harrowing journey, humans, angels, and demons alike." He nodded and motioned to the townspeople. "Living among you, you will come across those who were once strangers, former associates, and those you once considered enemies." He dropped his hands. "I'm sure plenty of you would have loved to drive a pitchfork through my head not that long ago."

The newcomers and townspeople chuckled and murmured.

Gabriel smiled genuinely and lifted his hands in supplication. "We're all here for the same reason. We're tired. We're injured. We've had enough of killing... and dying. Demons are not the only ones damned in this new and hateful world. We're all in need of saving."

Some of the demons grumbled with complaints, but Gabriel spoke over them.

"Satan won't save you." The archangel took a deep breath and sighed sadly. "God won't save you either. Separate, we remain condemned. Together?" He clasped his hands loudly. "Together, we can save ourselves!"

The crowd cheered, and the new inhabitants clapped and nodded.

"Now, go in peace! Your guides will help you get settled."

The crowd dispersed, the welcoming committee walked forward to give the new citizens the tour, and Gabriel headed straight for Crowley and Aziraphale with Ramiel in tow.

"Oh, here we go," Crowley sighed dejectedly.

Aziraphale elbowed him. "You love it when they come to you for advice."

Crowley smirked and elbowed him back. "So do you."

"Hiya, boys!" Gabriel greeted. "We've got most of the reports back from our people on the outside. Just waiting for a few more scouts but I don't see why we can't call a meeting already."

Ramiel nodded. "Moloch is waiting by the gate for the stragglers. She'll let us know as soon as they get in."

"Great," Crowley clapped his hands together, "let's get started then. Oh, and Gabe?"

Gabriel frowned at the nickname. "Yeah?"

"Nice speech," Crowley winked.

"You would say that," Gabriel sneered, "Aziraphale wrote most of it."

"Did not," Aziraphale defended, affronted.

"Yes, you did," said Ramiel. "It was the product of all your wise words over the years, Aziraphale. You should be proud."

Aziraphale scoffed and bristled, but was secretly pleased, which earned him a smile and a wink from his proud husband.

They laughed and began to walk toward the town-centre when a buzzing sound stopped Gabriel in his tracks. He whirled around, surprised to see a swarm of flies headed right for him.

"That's... odd," Gabriel's voice was tight with worry. "It's too soon to--"

The familiars buzzed around Gabriel before spelling out their message.

**Don't.**

**Be.**

**Stupid.**

The words hung in the air for a moment, and all at once, the flies dropped dead to the ground.

Gabriel paled and felt a cold dread creep up his spine as he watched the little flies disappear little by little. They'd never done that before. They had always flown back the way they came. Beelzebub did not want him to contact them, so they sent a one-way message.

"Gabriel, what does it mean?" Ramiel asked.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked to each other knowingly before Gabriel turned to face them once more.

"Nothing," Gabriel replied resolutely. "They're just dumb," he chuckled. "As usual. Taunting me or whatever." Fear glinted in his eyes.

Before more could be said, another horn blew, and soon after Moloch zipped down the narrow path. She tucked her wings in to stop them from grazing the rocky sides, which sent her diving headfirst to the ground. The skilful demon managed to brace her landing, momentum carrying her the rest of the way down. She ran like the Devil himself was chasing her.

"Gabriel!" Moloch shouted as she produced a letter from her person. "We have a problem," they skidded to a stop in front of the archangel and held out the note with a trembling hand.

A long pause hung in the air as Gabriel eyed the letter, he shook his head in denial. With a determined sniff, he took the note and read it silently.

All watched anxiously, waiting for the news, hoping it was nothing of too much importance. Certainly, Beelzebub was safe--

A choked sob escaped the archangel, and he doubled over, panting and dropping the letter to the ground. Ramiel and Crowley were quick to catch and steady him, but Gabriel was practically dead weight. 

The group spoke over each other as Aziraphale calmly picked up the letter and read the message aloud. "The traitor, Beelzebub, is to be executed publicly by the hand of your Lord, the Destroyer of Worlds."

Crowley snapped his disbelieving eyes to Aziraphale. "Adam?" He whispered hoarsely.

Aziraphale gave a curt nod. "Along with other traitors found in their ranks." 

The dove looked at the broken archangel at his feet. The former Messenger of God stayed kneeling, eyes vacant, livid with grief and desperation. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he tried to compose himself. Aziraphale knew that face. It was his own once.

Taking out a handkerchief from his pocket, Aziraphale knelt in front of the archangel and gently dabbed at his tears. 

Gabriel blinked at him in a half daze, not noticing the intimate gesture. "What do I do?" He rasped. "Tell me what to do," he pleaded quietly. 

Aziraphale looked to Crowley first who gave him a pained expression then nodded. It was with forced resolution that Aziraphale levelled his gaze with the fallen soldier. "You go and get them, naturally."

"Angel," Crowley warned. "He can't go alone."

Eyes still piercing Gabriel to the spot, Aziraphale replied softly. "Of course not."

"That means," Moloch swallowed, "we go and fight..."

"Indeed," Ramiel agreed.

Gabriel took in a long shaky breath. "I can't-I can't risk the lives of our people for-for," he sobbed, "one--"

"Not just one," Aziraphale emphasized, "_ your _ one." He nodded his head in the direction of the town. " _ Their _ ones. _ All _ the ones who have been discovered, who are under your protection and guidance."

Gabriel's eyes scanned the town, looked at his friends, yes, friends, and nodded. "Send for reinforcements," he ordered finally. 

"Which ones?" Asked Moloch.

Gabriel stood up with the help of his friends and glared toward the sky. "All of them."

* * *

The very air was charged with anticipation and a vast array of erratic emotions. Every able body was armed with blessed weapons. Gabriel was adamant in his message to his soldiers that they were to try and avoid destroying their brethren at all costs. Discorporation was the primary intent. When Gabriel was challenged that Hell would just pump out more vessels, Gabriel replied that there was a plan in place to attack Hell's Corporation Division.

It was settled. They were to show mercy whenever possible and free their captive flock. The primary target was Satan himself, the Horsemen, and the Antichrist, the only ones fated for destruction to free those too chained down by their influence and power. Gabriel had faith that without Lucifer and the Dark Council, the war would end immediately.

In the fragile safety of their home, Aziraphale and Crowley sought each other for comfort and fortitude. Their lovemaking was slow and gentle, and as they rocked together in their bed, they spoke in murmurs and whispers between kisses and soft moans.

"We don't have to go, angel," Crowley spoke as he kept his husband’s gaze. "We don't have to fight."

Aziraphale was desperate for more contact though they were already one. He grabbed fistfuls of red locks and pulled Crowley's face down toward him, invading Crowley's mouth with his tongue. His head dropped back onto the pillow and his back arched before he could reply. "I know."

Crowley dragged his right hand down his angel's side and then under his knee. He hooked Aziraphale's leg over his hip and drove deeper with an agonizingly slow thrust. They groaned in unison. "Are we choosing the world, then?"

"We are the world," Aziraphale whispered back into Crowley's neck before biting down to leave his mark.

Crowley pumped his hips shallow and fast. "Together, we can save ourselves, huh," he panted out the phrase.

"Together," Aziraphale rasped back and crushed their lips against one another’s.

Their muscles tensed as Crowley pushed harder and quicker. "I won't," Crowley cried out, "I won't go anywhere without-without you."

Aziraphale tried to speak, he thought he did, but what came out was keening puffs of air as the pleasure peaked.

"Together," Crowley husked between his frantic words, "together or noth-nothing." He whipped his hips, driving into his angel as much as he could.

"Yes," Aziraphale mewled, clinging to Crowley for dear life until there was not a hair's breadth between them. "Always to-together."

Their cries of pleasure followed one another's, Crowley thrusting deep through the fall and crash in Aziraphale's tight embrace. When the blinding stars receded from behind their eyes, they laid there quietly, hearing everything they ever wanted to say to each other, in an old language that could not be spoken aloud. 

Their union lasted forever and yet not long enough. When they untangled themselves, they stood together, always touching in one way or another. Their essence calling and intermingling when one was physically too far away. Their communication was constant even if their mouths made no sounds. They felt more like one being than ever before. Of one mind, one heart. Of one soul. It was how it was always supposed to be, they felt. Whatever they had just done unknowingly while making their vows, it was permanent. It was perfect.

The lovers dressed and armed one another. Aziraphale practically floated to the chest underneath their bed and pulled it out. He peered within, Crowley seeing through his eyes. Death in a bottle laid there.

"Holy water," said Crowley, his voice sounding odd to him now.

"Insurance," Aziraphale amended and grabbed the cannister, placing it in a sack on his belt.

_ Not if we can help it _, Crowley sent his thought.

_ Insurance _, Aziraphale affirmed and nodded.

At that moment, a horn blew and echoed throughout. 

It was time.

* * *

Satan did not like to waste the lives of his demons, or angels for that matter, but he had promised Adam that he could do what he pleased with the traitors. Adam had chosen mass public execution. It surprised the Lord of Hell, but he'd sensed the resentment and wrath growing within his son as the years went on. 

It wasn't the harshness of the punishment that bothered Satan (after all, he killed humans all the time); it was the finality of it. He much prefered repentance via torture and manipulation. Things were different now. He thought he had won the hearts of his subjects, how had never been relevant, but he'd been wrong. Satan did not like being wrong. An infection had spread in his ranks right under his nose, at his very table. It needed to be cut out entirely, or the treason would continue to spread. He would know, being the leader of the first and most famous rebellion of all time. The irony of it soured his stomach whenever he thought too deeply on it.

Now his son stood by his side, as they watched the platoons take their places out on the field surrounding his new church where the executions would be held. He looked down at Adam and was slightly disturbed by his cold and blank expression. The boy was like a machine ever since the battle at the castle, after the "dynamic duo" made their miraculous escape. He'd given Aziraphale and Crowley too much credit that night, thinking they accomplished the feat all on their own. It was not beyond the realm of possibility, but it was apparent now that Beelzebub had helped. Adam may have even colluded as well, only to be abandoned by his new _ friends _. 

Satan did not need to punish his son for his recklessness and stupidity. It was apparent the boy regretted his actions. He'd learned. Instead, Satan took the opportunity to drive his lesson home. Love was folly. Love was weakness. Love was a deadly crack in one's vital amour where the enemy would always aim for. Adam finally agreed.

It was no surprise to Adam when the whispers of war came to him. War herself was angsty and eager, telling all who would listen that something big was coming. The small lord knew this would bring out the rebels once and for all, and his father could not have been prouder. This was it. He could no longer wait for fate to take its course. He had to make his own fate. It was all in his hands, and he was eager to set things in motion.

Beelzebub was dragged out and thrown at Satan's feet. Adam stepped toward them and kicked their side.

"Kneel before us, traitor," Adam spat viciously.

Beelzebub bit down a groan while they were hoisted to their knees. They didn't bother speaking or looking up. 

"Oh, my dear, Beelzebub," Satan purred. "I was going to show you mercy by giving you penance, you know, a few millennia of torture and reforming, but my son is quite upset with you in particular."

"I wonder why," the traitor uttered hoarsely, still looking at the ground.

Satan glared at them. "It doesn't matter why." He gave Adam a reassuring pat on the head. "I've heard some delicious gossip about you and Gabriel, by the by."

Beelzebub snapped their head up, almost collapsing with the sudden movement. They watched Satan sneer down at them as they tried to school their panic.

"You're a fool," Satan admonished with a smile. "You of all my demons, I thought we were of the same mind. When will my followers learn?" He frowned and shook his head. "No matter. I will end this today. I do hope Gabriel shows. It's been far too long since we've seen each other."

Beelzebub managed to spit a wad of blood and snot at Lucifer's feet. "He'll destroy you!"

At that, Satan burst out laughing. "Lovestruck fool. He'll join you in the void when this is finished, or perhaps I'll keep him for a bit before I sever his pretty head from his shoulders with Hellfire."

Beelzebub's eyes widened before they sent themselves lurching toward the Devil, teeth and nails sharp, ready to dismember. 

They were abruptly knocked back down again. They snarled and kicked, but it was no use.

Satan rolled his eyes. "Face them toward our soldiers so they can see clearly what happens to traitors." He turned to Adam and quirked a brow. "Do you still wish to administer the finishing blow?"

Adam nodded curtly. "Yes."

"Taking a life with your own hands is no small matter, my son. This will follow you for the rest of your existence. It will shape you into something very different. Do you think you are ready for that?"

Adam took one breath, then squared his shoulders. "I'm done waiting around and being nothing. I'm done with being lied to and manipulated. I'm ready."

Satan smirked. "I'm," he cleared his throat and preened, "proud of you, son."

"Thank you, father," Adam whispered.

Satan's gaze whipped to his son, who was keenly staring at the traitor. He'd never called him father before. For the first time since he could remember, Lucifer was rendered speechless.

After a long moment, the Lord of Hell shook himself and focussed on the matter at hand. "Very well." He raised a hand and made his voice boom and echo for all to hear. "The Destroyer of Worlds has sentenced the demon Beelzebub to an immortal’s True Death. All the other traitors found among our ranks shall follow them into the void. This is what happens when you betray me, your god. Consider it a mercy. Your death shall be quick by the will of my son, your Lord, the Antichrist."

Satan motioned for War who marched forward and handed Adam the tainted flaming sword of Wisdom. Adam took it, felt the hilt's cold steel as his hands wrapped around the leather handle, and the flames warmed his face.

"Deliver your judgement, Destroyer!" Satan boomed.

Adam's heart hammered in his chest. His breath came in shallow, a prickly sensation travelled from his head to his hands, and the hairs on his neck rose with anticipation.

He stepped toward the kneeling traitor and raised his sword--

The sound of a battle horn was faint in the distance, but Adam heard it. The small Lord paused and looked to his father, who was scanning the horizon, a small smile on his wicked lips.

"You might want to wait a moment, my son. I think we're about to have a new audience."

It was not long before the earth trembled with the march of thousands of rebels, Demon, Angel, human. A large flock of black and white wings could be seen in the air as well. The closer they got, the more details Adam could glean. The rebels were armed to the teeth, their armour all matched with an emblem on it that Adam had never seen before. It was the image of a human figure flanked by two pairs of wings, one white the other black.

Beelzebub made a whimpering sound at the sight of Gabriel leading the charge. After a surge of anger, they couldn't help but be relieved to see him. The rebels came as close as they dared. The horn blew once more, and everyone came to a halt.

Beelzebub was the first one Gabriel saw, and one could argue that they were the only one Gabriel could see. He nodded at them first, then caught Satan's gaze. With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel's voice amplified as he spoke.

"Humans and demons," Gabriel cried out, "lay down your weapons and walk away from the oppressor. Join us and no harm will come to you."

Satan made a show of looking around wildly to see if someone would listen to the rebel leader. Then he looked back to Gabriel and shrugged. "Oh, well," Satan deadpanned, amplifying his own voice so that all could hear. "I would say the same to your lot, but then we all know that would be a lie. What I can offer is punishment. Repent, and I shall let you all live... eventually."

Gabriel ignored him and continued to address the enemy ranks. "Look at us! We are proof that we can all work together, all live together in peace. You can all be part of this as well. And we can finally build a world we can all share alongside one another."

Lucifer never liked being ignored. The Deceiver waited not so patiently and waited for an opportunity to interrupt. He splayed his arms wide. "There is no such thing as peace. Peace cannot exist without War. Our side won, Gabriel. Your hubris will not allow you to admit defeat. And now you lead your followers into war - again. How many is that now? Three? Three Wars and you'll lose just as many. Those of you following this weakling will lose your lives today if you don't surrender this instant."

Gabriel shook his head. "I have said my piece. Surrender at any time, and you will be shown mercy." He pointed to Lucifer. "Except you."

"Imbecile." Satan turned to his son and nodded. "Destroy the traitor."

Adam nodded slowly and raised his sword again. It was then Crowley's voice echoed over the field, making Adam freeze.

"Adam," Crowley pleaded, "you don't have to do this. We can still fix everything. You know this is wrong."

Adam refused to look up. If he saw Crowley, he'd lose his nerve. "There is no right or wrong!" Adam shouted.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Aziraphale's words pierced him next "I'm not so certain myself anymore. But there is what you can live with. Can you live with what you're about to do, Adam?"

"This is it, Adam," Crowley called warningly. "Come with us. We're here for you now."

"And we should have never left you," Aziraphale added somberly.

Adam wanted to see their faces, see if the truth could be read there along with their words, but he steeled his resolve and kept his eyes trained on Beelzebub. Tears streamed down Adam's cheeks, but his face was resolute. He shook his head in denial. "I'm tired of waiting for something to happen. You made your choice. Now I've made mine!"

Time slowed, and the world fell away as Beelzebub managed a smile, meant for only one being in the entire universe. Gabriel cried out in response. It was too late. They were much too far. No one would be able to reach Beelzebub before Adam could strike. 

The sound of the sword coming down, high-pitched and promising death, rang out for all to hear. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There would not have been another cliffhanger had I been able to fit everything I wanted in this chapter but this was the most logical place to stop... I'm SORRY! But you know I do it because I love you all, right? I've had a few of people BEG me not to kill Beelzebub, Tim included lol. It's okay if you're cursing my name right now. 
> 
> I will try my very best to complete chapter 19 before next Monday, but it may just take two whole weeks for me to get it done, beta'd, edited, and draw the chapter art. As usual, I will keep you all posted on my IG private stories. If you want to be added, just DM me on IG with "add me." @mordellestories
> 
> Friends, I really do hope you have a wonderful Holiday season. Best wishes to ALL of you! And thank you for sticking with me this far!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW! This chapter was a challenge to say the least. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have spurred me on, especially those of you who have been here from the beginning. Your comments have really helped me stay motivated even in the worst of times!
> 
> Thank you beta's: Azeran, Tim, & IntergalacticSuperTwink (finally got my very own Brit-picker!) You've all been a godsend! 
> 
> ***WARNINGS: Graphic violence, blood, gore, multiple character deaths***
> 
> The battle begins!

Gabriel cried out in anguish and lurched forward, weaponless hand outstretched to the smiling demon prince at Adam's feet.

It had happened so swiftly that for a moment, not even Satan knew what had occurred he had still reacted in time. Everyone stood rooted to the spot as Satan gawked at the Flaming sword caught between the points of his trident.

Adam's face was tear-streaked and red with effort. He was panting and growling, pushing with all his might to drive the sword through the devil. But Lucifer was much too strong for him. Quickly, Satan manoeuvred his weapon and disarmed the boy. 

Satan stared at his treacherous son in quiet rage. "How disappointing," he snarled with disdain.

Beelzebub launched to standing and screamed as loud as they could. "Doves, fly!" 

Thousands of demons scattered throughout the ranks let their white wings unfurl, with their companions spreading their black wings and following them as they soared upwards and away from the unholy hoard. Everyone was so stunned by the spectacle that Beelzebub was able to send themselves into the sky, momentarily out of harm's way.

Gabriel shouted out the order for the charge, and the mayhem of war began in an instant. The shouts and blaring screams came first, followed by the sounds of damned and holy weapons meeting. 

Crowley snatched Aziraphale's hand and locked eyes with his husband. Without needing to say a word, they soared up together to meet the other Doves and their companions who were still airborne. 

Crowley pointed to half the flock. "You lot, free our captured. From there, attack from the West."

Aziraphale pointed to the other half. "And the rest of you make for the North end and disarm the long-range soldiers."

"Discorporation is the goal, not destruction," Crowley added.

"And you two?" Asked a demon clinging to their partner in fear.

The husbands raised their chins and squared their shoulders. "We're gonna cut off the head of the Beast," Crowley answered.

"Go now and lick some serious arse!" Aziraphale said proudly, pumping a fist in the air.

Crowley choked and sent a hand to his throat. "Aziraphale! We've been through this before, it's 'kick'! KICK!"

No one heard Crowley's correction as the lot of them had already shouted with enthusiasm and dispersed to follow their orders.

"Sorry," Aziraphale shrugged with amusement and a little wiggle. "I suppose I was thinking too hard on what I'll do to you after our victory." 

Crowley's eyebrows nearly disappeared entirely. "You had me at hello," he drawled with a grin.

They smiled at one another, then the grins faded. 

"Together," said Crowley.

Aziraphale nodded. "Always."

Gabriel, Uriel, Ramiel and Moloch met them in the air. "Where are the reinforcements?" Gabriel asked with a growl.

"On their way," replied Moloch.

"We can't wait much longer, but maybe--" Ramiel was interrupted by a snarling Gabriel. 

"I'm not waiting another second." Gabriel raised his lance, tucked in his wings, and plunged downward toward Beelzebub who was losing their fight against three demons and a human.

Those left behind looked to Aziraphale.

"Is the antichrist still a target?" Asked Ramiel.

"No!" Crowley shouted. He turned to Aziraphale anyway with a pleading look. "You saw him Aziraphale, he tried to kill Satan."

Aziraphale looked below and spotted Adam, the flaming sword back in his hands as he swung it over and over again at his father. The boy had no skill, he was swinging haphazardly, and Aziraphale wondered why Satan was humouring him and not striking Adam down or at least, disarming him again.

The realization hit Aziraphale like a brick to his skull. His eyes widened. "He's still a target--"

"What?!" Crowley yelled in outrage before he could sense what Aziraphale meant.

"We must capture the boy," Aziraphale continued as he sent his thoughts and reassurance to his companion. _Our theory wasn't entirely wrong! It's Adam, Crowley. It was never me, it's always been Adam!_ "Don't harm him, but we must take him as our hostage."

_What are you on about, Aziraphale?_ Crowley sent his question back. "If we're going to take him hostage, then I should be the one to do it. He knows I won't hurt him." At least he hoped Adam knew that.

"Then we'll lead our charge toward War and Pestilence and try to hold them while you execute your plan," said Moloch.

They all agreed and went their separate ways. Crowley and Aziraphale flew side by side, wings grazing ever so slightly. Aziraphale decided to keep the new information private.

_Crowley, Lucifer didn't replace Michael with me. He replaced them with Adam. All this time we thought it was me because of the timing! There was no one new in the picture. But there was! Adam didn't start getting involved with the council until he found out I was up for promotion!_

"You can't be serious," Crowley scoffed out loud. “Are you saying that Lucifer has suddenly sprouted a heart? The King of Hell is capable of fatherly love? Rubbish.”

Aziraphale frowned. "You said it yourself, Fallen or no, we are all still angels. We've always been capable of love, whether we reject the source or not."

Crowley was near ripping out his hair. "But he hates love. He didn't just reject it, he's gone mad trying to destroy it!" 

_One cannot destroy the indestructible just as one cannot understand the--_

"No," Crowley interrupted aloud. "Don't you dare say it, don't even _ think _ it!"

"... ineffable."

"I swear to Someone--!"

Uriel was suddenly before them, their sword raised for attack, their face contorted with wrath, and they were headed right for them. 

Aziraphale held his breath. Uriel was charging right for him. 

Uriel roared.

Crowley slammed himself into Aziraphale, their wings getting caught up in one another's. They dropped just in time for Uriel to crash right into Hastur who had been silently gaining on him from behind. 

Everything was a blur as Aziraphale tumbled downward. He tried to right himself, but it was useless. The small, falling dove came to mind, and at that moment, he knew what he had to do. Aziraphale's wings disappeared, and he spread his arms wide, closing his eyes.

And was caught.

He was bridal-style in someone's arms. Aziraphale beamed before even opening his eyes. 

"Hello, gorgeous," Crowley winked with a quick flash of teeth. 

Aziraphale reached up and kissed him hard.

* * *

Hastur and Uriel hit the ground hard. They were a tangle of limbs, neither able to strike a blow to their opponent as they tried almost fruitlessly to right themselves.

"UGH!" Uriel gagged. "What is that smell?!" They shoved the frog-like demon away finally and scrambled to stand, lifting their sword and pointing it at their enemy.

Hastur coughed up dirt and spat it at Uriel's feet, limping away from them and trying desperately to find his weapon he'd dropped in the fall. "You cost me my vengeance, bless it! You'll pay!"

Uriel stood their ground and did not advance on the weaponless demon. They stared until recognition came. Uriel's jaw dropped, and they looked at their Fallen comrade from long ago. "Allocen?!"

"It's Hastur, Duke of Hell for your information," he groused back.

Uriel shook off their stupor and tried to push away the memories they had buried once already in vain. They knew of the demon Hastur, how could they not? There weren't that many dukes charged with delivering the Antichrist. Uriel was just unaware of who Hastur had been Before, until now. "Allocen, it's me, Uriel."

Hastur laughed. "Really? And here I thought you were the Queen of England."

"There is no Queen of England," Uriel replied, confused.

Hastur frowned and shrugged self-consciously. "I know that. I meant - ah, nevermind! I know who you are!"

Uriel felt their corporation's heart clench. They could not reconcile their memory of the once beautiful angel with the rancid demon before them. "We were friends..."

The archangel was momentarily lost in the past and Hastur did not wait to take advantage. He spotted an abandoned sword on the ground and slowly inched his way to it. It would not destroy Uriel, but at least he'd be able to discorporate them as long as he had the element of surprise. 

"Is that what we were, Uriel?" Said Hastur, dripping with venom. "There were no enemies back then, so how could we have been friends?" He continued, hoping to keep Uriel's eyes on his. "That word didn't even exist at the time--"

"Because we didn't need it," Uriel bristled. "It was just known. But you and I," they shook their head slowly with a pained expression, "I mourned your loss."

"Ha! Yeah, then you erased me. Some friend." Hastur smiled, showing blackened sharp teeth.

Uriel felt sick. "We don't have to do this. We don't have to fight. You heard Gabriel. Surrender now, and I will spare you."

A scoff ripped out of Hastur before he threw his head back and laughed loudly. "Says the loving, forgiving angel who butchered five of their so-called friends." His chuckles died off, and his black irises swallowed the whites of his eyes. "The Almighty herself does not forgive, so how could I expect your lot to after everything you've done?" He was so close to the weapon half-hidden in the dirt.

Tears welled up in Uriel's eyes.

"Aw, poor Uriel," Hastur pouted. "Now that they have their memories back, murder doesn't have the same appeal. That's alright," he consoled. "I'll make it easy for ya." He grinned wide, black poison dribbling down his chin, and finally sprang for the sword.

* * *

Gabriel discorporated at least fifteen demons trying to get to Beelzebub. He was a prime target, and the demons just kept coming, wave after wave. His four human companions had already met their end. He was alone and surrounded, but when he heard Beelzebub cry out in pain, Gabriel's resolve strengthened. 

With a roar, Gabriel speared a demon through their shoulder and used them as a battering ram. He pushed through the hoard that kept him from his beloved and finally spotted them. 

Beelzebub was holding their side and weakly blocking attacks with their mace. Gabriel surged forward, pulled his lance out of the unfortunate demon still skewered on it, and sent it hurtling through the air.

The lance made contact with one of Beelzebub's attackers, but it was enough for them to advance and swiftly discorporate two of their former subordinates. They doubled over and frantically shuffled in a circle looking for more enemies. A looming figure came from behind, and Gabriel was lucky the demon was exhausted and severely wounded. He was able to dodge Beelzebub's mace by a hair.

"Don't kill the messenger," Gabriel smiled smugly. He leaned down with every intention to finally kiss the demon who haunted his every thought. Gabriel was unable to dodge Beelzebub's second attack. The demon prince snatched his ear and tugged hard. "Ow-ow-ow! Bug, why?!" He whined, unable to stand or get away.

"I told you not to do anything stupid, you overgrown dodo! And were you about to kiss me for the first time covered in sweat, blood, and dirt in the middle of a blessed battle?"

Gabriel grimaced. "Um. Yes?"

"You know me so well," Beelzebub growled and yanked on Gabriel's ear to bruise his lips with theirs. They let a stunned Gabriel go and wiped their mouth with the back of their bloody hand. "Disgusting," they said and grinned sheepishly for the first time in aeons.

* * *

Adam had given up hope on Crowley and Aziraphale. The little bit he had left for Beelzebub was snuffed out when they refused to include him in their plans. And yes, he was angry. Adam was so very furious at the world, at his so-called friends, his teacher, most of all he was mad and so, so very furious at himself. He didn't know whether he was going to survive. But it didn't matter anymore. He was determined to do something. But now as he swung over and over again at his father, not Landing a single blow, Adam realized he would never be able to best Satan. He had been relying on the element of surprise. But that had failed him.

"What are you doing, Adam?" chided Satan. He was hanging onto his last thread of patience so he wouldn't accidentally murder his son on the spot. "After everything that's happened, why do you continue to fight the truth!" Oh, how familiar this all is, he thought with annoyance.

"JUST DIE ALREADY!" Came Adam's response, his voice almost completely gone. The fire from the sword had already gone out. And Adam didn't know how to relight it, but he swung anyway. He swung like his life depended on it - and it did. He didn't value his life as much as he did in the past, back when he didn't even know angels and demons existed. But he still cared enough to fight for some kind of future. 

"This game grows tiresome," Satan snarled while easily deflecting Adam's weakening attacks. "I suppose I should be proud of your rebellious nature. You are my son, after all." He smiled wickedly. "Eventually you will learn that your so-called friends will fail you and you will have no one to turn to but me."

"NEVER! YOU RUINED MY LIFE!"

Their swords crossed and Satan loomed over Adam, pushing the Antichrist toward the ground with slow ease. "How dramatic children can be. I have all the time in the universe to wait and watch you come crawling to me on…"

One of Adam's legs gave out, sending his right knee to the floor.

"... your…"

Adam's other knee followed suit.

"... knees," Satan finished with a hiss through bared teeth.

Now, all Adam could do was hope that someone would swoop in and finish what he had started.

As if on cue, Aziraphale dropped right in front of him. "Out-of-the-way boy!" Before Adam could react, Aziraphale sent his foot forward, kicking Adam square in the chest, sending him flying. A pair of arms caught him and ripped the sword from his hand. 

"I'll take that thank you!"

"Crowley?" Adam struggled against his grip, trying to turn around and face him but Crowley would not relent. Crowley hooked an arm around his throat and squeezed him tight against his body.

"Get off me!" Adam thrashed.

"I would hold still if I were you!" Warned Crowley. The sword recognized its master and abruptly came to life. The flames had burst higher than anyone had seen in a long time. For a moment, Satan looked alarmed but quickly schooled his features. The former Archangel Jophiel looked wild and deadly. 

Adam felt Crowley squeeze his shoulder in what he thought was reassurance. He kept the sword a safe distance away from the boy and sneered at the Deceiver. "Would you look at that?" said Crowley. "Baby knows its momma," he cooed.

Aziraphale's cinquedea was already alight. 

Lucifer only lowered his trident slightly as he smirked between the two armed demons, as they circled him slowly. "What are you going to do, Crowley? Kill the boy? He's on your side, I reckon. Or did you miss the brat attempt patricide?" He made no eye contact with Adam and let his words drip with as much venom as possible.

"It matters not," said Aziraphale. "He's your progeny, and we know that means more to you than you let on."

"What are you on about?" Asked Satan

"That you love your precious little boy," mocked Aziraphale with a smug smile.

"_Love is weakness,' _" said Crowley with an amusing impression of the Father of Lies. "Isn't that what you always say? Well, consider the lesson learned. I have your weakness right here," he jostled Adam, "and if you don't stand down, little Adam here is going to suffer the consequences of your actions."

Satan's laughter boomed, but his stance did not relax. "Even if that were true, you think I'd really believe you would kill him? Should’ve had Azirath pretend to take him hostage, I might have believed the ruse."

Crowley frowned.

"He will do as I say," snarled Aziraphale before changing his tune when he spoke to Crowley, "isn't that right, dearest?" 

"Anything you like, angel," Crowley breathed adoringly.

"Oh, is that so?" Said Satan as his weapon twitched. "Have you by the wings, does he, Crawley? I guess we all know who tops." He chuckled with a leer.

"You'd be surprised," muttered Crowley under his breath for only Adam to hear.

Adam ceased his struggling, shocked by the little joke that was breathed in his ear. Crowley continued to move his arm as if Adam was trying to escape, and then Adam understood. Crowley would not hurt him. Tears of relief and hope streamed down Adam's face, but Satan read as something different.

"Don't be frightened, son. They won't harm you."

"Try me," growled Crowley. "He's half human, Lucifer. Who knows what my sword will do to him?"

"All it takes is a little singe to find out!" Aziraphale surged forward to attack.

Sword against trident, they parried, while Crowley inched closer. 

Crowley had banked on Adam being safe from his father and feeling the tiniest bit like an arsehole for using the boy as a human shield when Satan suddenly sounded on him. Adam squeezed his eyes shut. The last thing he saw was the three points of Satan's trident going right for his face. 

But the blow never came. 

Adam opened his eyes and found the trident a hair's breadth away from his throat. 

Satan roared with pure rage, his claws getting longer, his horns growing more massive, and he was getting taller and less human by the second.

Aziraphale took that moment to rush toward Satan, aiming to stab him in the back quite literally but the Deceiver anticipated it. Lucifer twirled his trident over his head, smacking Aziraphale's sword away and driving Aziraphalel to the ground. 

"Fine." His voice was not human anymore. "You take my companion? Then I take yours."

Aziraphale used his bare hands to grasp the weapon coming down on him. The sharp tips of Lucifer's trident slowly sank into Aziraphale's armour while Aziraphale groaned with pain and effort to keep himself from getting skewered.

"STOP!" Crowley bellowed, voice breaking.

"NO," cried Adam at the same time.

Satan ground his teeth and glared at his son. "He would have let me drive right through you and still you are on their side? You ungrateful brat. They do not care for you. I do. I have given you everything. I have given you immortality. I have given you power. It is because of me that you live at all. It is because of me you are literally worshipped. We're going to have to work on your gratitude, my boy."

"You're a deranged evil bastard!" was all Adam could reply while staring wide-eyed at Aziraphale losing his grip.

"Flattery will not save you from being grounded," Satan retorted dryly. "I'm finished with playing the doting, understanding father. After this is done, you will be punished just like the rest until you submit to me. And you will submit to me, make no mistake. I've been your destiny since the day you were conceived."

"Let Aziraphale go," demanded Crowley.

"Release the brat and I will."

"You go first. I don't trust you," Crowley replied, trying to hide the desperation in his tone.

Satan had the gall to smile. "And I trust no one."

"Lucifer," Aziraphale choked out, "look around you. You're losing. If you want your son to survive then stand down and take him to safety. It's your only chance."

Satan took a moment to take stock of the situation. What he saw enraged him further. Azirath was not lying. His soldiers were losing. Their discorporated vessels littered the field around them in pools of blood. Angels and demons were fighting against his side, and the human slaves had already turned on him as well. He was outnumbered.

Lucifer turned his gaze to the sky and screamed his wrath and frustration to an absent God. Then he looked down at Aziraphale, roared again, and pushed his trident through.

"NO!" Crowley screamed, throwing Adam to one side and lurching for the devil.

* * *

Just because Hastur was graceless in his technique did not mean he was not skilled. He held his own very well and because Uriel was hesitant to discorporate him, scar his demonic soul, or worse, destroy him with their holy weapon, Hastur had the advantage.

"Allocen, Uriel pleaded, "Stop this. I don't want to harm you." 

Weapons collided, crossed in front of them, and they were face-to-face. For a moment they just stared at each other. 

"I'm sorry, Allocen," said Uriel, real remorse apparent on their face.

Hastur flinched. "My name is Hastur," he replied weakly. No one had ever said they were sorry for anything they did to Hastur, especially no Angel.

Hastur did not advance, and he seemed confused. Uriel decided to keep trying their luck. "I was wrong. We were all wrong. For casting you out and not listening when all you wanted was to be heard and to understand. Instead of showing you love we showed you malice. But I will show you love now. If you give me a chance. One more chance to make everything right."

Hastur's remaining sneer faded from his face and was replaced with several emotions trying to take over at once. He eased his weapon away from Uriel and stepped back, still on his guard. It had the effect Uriel wanted. 

"You really mean it? You're not lying?" Hastur asked softly.

"Of course, I'm not lying! You can trust me, old friend. I'm an angel after all," Uriel joked. Uriel breathed a sigh of relief when Hastur bent low and laid their weapon on the ground at their feet. 

Hastur stood up slowly and kept eye contact with the angel who was the closest thing to a friend he had before his Fall. "I never thought I'd see the day when I would trust an angel." He chuckled mirthlessly.

Uriel lowered their weapon. They were still smiling when a bottle of Hellfire dropped from the sky and broke on their crown. They couldn't hear Hastur over their own screams as they watched themselves disintegrate into nothing.

"Definitely never thought I'd see the day where an angel would trust a demon," Hastur laughed and shrieked with glee.

Hastur looked around for his next victim and spotted one of his slaves. "Leech,' he called, "fetch me some holy water!" He spotted Crowley from a distance. "I have a job to finish."

* * *

Hellfire rained over the battlefield, setting fire to enemies and allies alike. Crowley had just enough time to evade the small bombs of hellish flames that seemed to erupt everywhere at once. Then Crowley dodged attacks from demons who'd come to Lucifer's aid.

Aziraphale was doing an impressive job keeping Satan from skewering him like shishkabob, but he couldn't last forever. Crowley knew what that trident was capable of. All archangels had been created with their unique weapons, and they had the power to scar and destroy another immortal. Aziraphale had been injured once already in the first rebellion, which meant he was strong enough to survive the blow. Could he survive another blow? Crowley was not about to find out. He was out of his mind with dread over losing his companion, and his corporeal form showed it.

Scales shimmered from his fingertips to his forearms, his fangs were out, and his eyes were glinting and wild. 

Meanwhile, Aziraphale struggled as Satan continued to drive his weapon home.

"Looks like the rain of fire evened out the playing field," Satan grinned.

Aziraphale didn't dare assess the damage around him. 

"If you survive this," Satan groused, "I'll have to ask how a murderous demon like yourself kept his angelic wings."

When Lucifer spoke, he had lost a bit of concentration and Aziraphale was able to lean the points away from any vital areas that could possibly destroy him. He needed to keep the windbag talking.

"Isn't it obvious?" Aziraphale ground out through clenched teeth. He managed a malicious smile. "I'm one of her chosen." The trident scratched and squeaked as it dragged down toward his abdomen again, above the core of his being.

Lucifer barked out a laugh. "Chosen," mocked Lucifer, "chosen to die, perhaps."

"Jealous are we," Aziraphale chuckled hoarsely and grunted from the continued effort. "She's chosen another over you again. And Michael chose God over you. Your own son chose his enemy over you. Face it. No one wants you. You aren't special. Never were." He struggled with his words, but they had the effect he intended. 

Satan's hands slipped just enough for Aziraphale to roll out of the way but not before one of the points tore through the side of his armour and taking off a chunk of his corporation. 

Satan roared with fury, his eyes aflame with wrathful Hellfire. "I'LL WIPE YOU OUT OF EXISTENCE!!"

Aziraphale scrambled backwards toward where his sword laid and tried to stand but Lucifer advanced on him quickly. Adam rushed in front of Aziraphale and splayed his arms wide. 

"Stop," cried Adam, "I won't let you--"

Satan cut him off with a backhanded slap that sent him tumbling into the dirt, unconscious.

Lucifer's trident came down upon Aziraphale again, and a flaming sword intercepted. Crowley was fast and ferocious with his attacks, driving Lucifer back. Aziraphale was entranced, gaping at his husband's transformation. 

Crowley was gorgeous. His hair had loosened from its plait, but it knew better than to get in his way. The fire-like tresses blew in the wind, always behind him as he advanced on the devil. 

Aziraphale was pulled from his stupor when a pair of hands yanked him up to standing.

"You alright?" Gabriel asked, looking at the pool of blood at Aziraphale's feet and the way he held onto his side. 

"I have to help him," Aziraphale panted, already in pursuit of the parrying demons.

"Heal yourself," Gabriel commanded, "let us handle it." Beelzebub and Gabriel went to Crowley's aid.

Beelzebub's energy was extremely low, but three against one gave Satan a little trouble. He no longer made it look easy to fend off his opponents and he was driven back, forced to avoid attacks from all angles. 

Crowley grinned. It wasn't everyday one got the upper hand over the King of Hell. Crowley pushed onward, stronger and faster. The serpent waited patiently for his moment and was not disappointed. 

_ There _ , Crowley thought with glee, _ an opening. _

* * *

Gabriel and Beelzebub did their best to keep Satan's attention on them so that Crowley might have a chance to bring everything to an end. It was working. 

Lucifer changed his strategy and focused on advancing at Beelzebub, but Gabriel was one step ahead. The messenger drove forward, causing Satan to change tactics again. _ Yes _, Gabriel cheered internally. Lucifer swung at Crowley prematurely and--

Hastur's voice broke through the cacophony. "Do it now you useless parasite!" 

Gabriel's victorious smile faltered when he saw a blonde woman running towards Crowley with a squirt bottle. 

"CROWLEY! BEHIND YOU!" Gabriel bellowed in warning.

Crowley whirled around and froze, his eyes becoming wide and vacant.

* * *

Crowley was unable to defend himself against the onslaught of memories flashing through his mind. He knew that woman. Unknowingly and unwillingly, Crowley retreated to a time where the filthy, skinny slave before him helped tortured him in all manner of ways. 

He was in his cell. He could smell her foulness. He watched her pull one the numerous leeches from her skin and felt her jam it into his mouth. 

_ This isn't real. This isn't happening. I was, I was fighting. I was. Wasn't I? _

_ Aziraphale... _ he thought wildly, in pure panic. _ Wake me up. Wake me... _

* * *

Aziraphale had healed himself best he could, but his wound was not only of the physical variety. His corporation nearly expired in the process of repairing it and his being pulsated tortuously where Lucifer had struck. 

_ Angel... please wake me up... _

Aziraphale zeroed in on Crowley who was standing motionless in the centre of the battle, the echo of his message sending dread straight through him. He ran. _ I hear you, Crowley! _

_ ... angel ... _

Aziraphale's heart seized when he caught sight of a slave, raising a squirt bottle. There could be no mistaking what contents laid inside the seemingly innocent plastic container.

"No! Crowley move, please!" Aziraphale wailed. "CROWLEY!" 

Aziraphale gathered all of his remaining power and snapped his fingers. The woman instantly vanished, but not before she had squeezed the trigger.

It was too late.

"NO!"

A white wing thrust before Crowley and caught the holy water in its angelic feathers. 

Gabriel had saved the demon from a horrible death, but had let his guard down in the process.

Satan struck, his trident stabbing into the meat of Gabriel's back where his wing was attached.

Beelzebub roared and charged recklessly to save Gabriel from another blow, but Satan was faster. He dislodged his weapon, ripping Gabriel's wing off in the process, then plunged it into Beelzebub's head. His demon was dead in an instant, and Gabriel mourned loudly with a wail as he laid motionless on the ground facing his lifeless companion.

* * *

It was Gabriel's agonizing scream that snapped Crowley out of it. A dismembered white wing and a dirty squirt bottle laid at Crowley's feet. Hastur dove for the holy water and Crowley used the opportunity to charge forward and drive his flaming sword into Hastur's gut.

There was a moment where they were both stunned and staring at each other before Hastur turned to ash. 

A fresh wave of demons crowded around the serpent and his flaming sword. Crowley backed up and took a defensive stance in front of Gabriel, ready for anything.

* * *

Satan turned just in time to block Aziraphale's attack. Noticing Aziraphale's weakness, Satan poured all of his power into his next attack. When their weapons clashed Aziraphale's sword cracked in half and clattered to the ground. Aziraphale staggered back, and Satan reached out with his claws, gripping Aziraphale by the throat and bringing him close to his demonic, monstrous face.

"Look around Azirath, you're losing," Lucifer sneered. 

After the Hellfire attack, the rebel’s numbers had dwindled considerably, and Satan's demons had gained the advantage. Aziraphale looked around in a panic, trying to find some way, any way that this could end without turning to his last resort. He had hoped that Crowley would save him like he always had, but when Aziraphale searched for the familiar copper head, he found Crowley surrounded and outnumbered.

Satan squeezed and dug his claws deeper into Aziraphale's flesh.

Aziraphale stopped struggling as soon as he caught sight of a familiar, faceless Horseman. Death was staring at him from a distance, unbothered by the chaos around him and unnoticed by everyone else.

* * *

Crowley heard Aziraphale cry out in pain. He spun around to find him in Satan's clutches once more. "No," he breathed. The husbands made eye contact, and Crowley knew what would happen next. "Don't you dare," Crowley whispered aloud. _ I can do this. We can win. Don't. _

The demons surrounding Crowley rushed at him. Crowley swung his sword desperately, not knowing who he had struck or whether they were dead or not. As he cut through the enemies that kept him from his husband, Aziraphale answered his message.

_ I love you, my heart. _

_ No _, Crowley sent back, slicing through two more bodies.

_ I always have. _

_ Wait, Aziraphale! _ Crowley looked up just in time to see his angel pull out the holy water canister from his pocket. _ Wait! _ Crowley sobbed and panted as he continued his onslaught, all the while hearing and feeling Aziraphale's love.

_ Crowley, I need you to know that the happiest moments of my life were the moments I spent with you. _

"Aziraphale," Crowley whimpered, tears flowing freely. _ I'll follow you. _ It was a promise remade.

Crowley could feel the wistful smile in Aziraphale's message. '_ How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.' Thank you, my love. _

_ GOD, PLEASE! _ Crowley cried out and reached out toward Aziraphale while someone yanked on his hair, dragging him further away from his reason for living.

* * *

Time slowed, and the sounds of war faded. The silence was like a roaring ocean in Aziraphale's ears while his hand grasped at the leather pouch at his side, the holiest of holy water in his demonic hand. 

Death gave him a slow, slight nod and waited.

Tears flowed freely but silently out of Aziraphale as Satan raised him high into the air, bringing them nose to nose with one another. 

"You could have been my best soldier," said Satan. "What a waste." Very deliberately, Satan poured the rest of his power into his trident and breached Aziraphale's armour.

A trumpet sounded in the distance, and the ground began to tremble.

Satan looked around, trying to figure out where it had come from and why.

Satan glared at him, "What has happened?"

Aziraphale couldn't help but chuckle hysterically. "Our reinforcements," he laughed again.

Satan looked around wildly. The field had been overrun with fresh rebel soldiers from different nations, and the immortal children who ruled them. Brian, Pepper, Wensleydale, and even the stupid dog. 

"It's over," Aziraphale rasped.

"So it seems," Satan said with a growl. "But you shall not bear witness."

"No," Aziraphale agreed, "I won't. But neither will you."

Raising his hand in the air above them, Lucifer barely had a moment to comprehend what was about to transpire. His eyes widened at the same time as Aziraphale crushed the canister, letting the holy water burst over them both, but not before Satan plunged his trident the rest of the way.

There was screaming. So much screaming. Aziraphale was in pain, and it was like a blazing fire was coursing through his veins, his soul, his very being. The only comfort was that he could hear Satan screaming too. Quickly, the screams ended, and Aziraphale's world turned black.

He was floating, bobbing up and down on the waves of love and wholly blanketed in peace he had not known since his creation. Aziraphale recognized this love. It was the love that had been ripped from him six centuries ago. Swiftly, that love felt like it was ripped from him again. Old scars burst open, and the fire-like pain came back to him in an agonizing rush.

"Aziraphale! Aziraphale! Angel, please come back to me."

With a gasp and a choked cry, Aziraphale jolted awake, his world still covered in darkness.

"Let me see him, let me see him!"

"Don't touch him," Ramiel's voice snapped. "He's covered in holy water. I'm doing the best I can."

Aziraphale's vision began to come in and out. He sighed with relief when he was granted a view of Crowley being held back by Moloch.

Ramiel was trying to heal Aziraphale's spiritual wounds that Satan had left in his wake. 

Then Aziraphale realized... he hadn't turned into a puddle of burning goo.

Ramiel smiled down at him, "We've won."

A quick look around himself showed bodies littered everywhere, fiery puddles and piles of ash stretched out as far as his eyes could see. They may have won, but at a great cost.

Aziraphale gazed into his husband's eyes and gave him a sad smile as Crowley's expressions fought between affection and glaring daggers.

"You better survive this, angel, because I will not have your last words to me be a quote from Winnie the _ fucking _ Pooh, do you understand me?"

The slightest of amused scoffs escaped Aziraphale, sending him reeling back into the darkness.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now, there ya have it! Now you know why this chapter was so difficult to write. All the back and forth and action and emotion and and and... I'm tired.
> 
> ANYWAY, you can rest easy now right? Oh, wait... I guess there's still the matter of who survived and who... didn't. But at least Aziraphale and Crowley are okay... kinda... lol! I've been such an a-hole. But there is only the epilogue left! Anyone want some lemons in it? I kinda do... not sure yet.
> 
> [ALSO: Hastur's slave in this chapter, that almost killed Crowley, is a character belonging to and created by @owlvirus!! She is an oc that was inspired by this story and I am over the moon with her! Check her out on DA!](https://www.deviantart.com/owlvirus/art/A-girl-Bless-the-fallen-826519304)
> 
> As usual, you can find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mordellestories) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/mordellestories/) and you can even find me on discord (mordelle#9350).
> 
> Please comment and tell me what you thought of the chapter!! It will keep me sane! Have a lovely week!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear. This is it! The last chapter. I really do hope you enjoy it.
> 
> A GINORMOUS thank you to my beta's: Azeran, Tim, and IntergalacticSuperTwink! I really can't thank you enough.
> 
> I'm getting all emotional!!!
> 
> ***WARNING: NSFW art and a very descriptive LEMON***

Aziraphale awoke to the sound of hurried whispers nearby. With his eyes still closed he listened carefully to see who it might be and what they might be saying, but the murmuring was low and incoherent to his ears. Though he could not understand the words, he knew it was Crowley. With great effort, Aziraphale opened his eyes. It took several tries to get them fully open, but at last, the room came into view. He was in bed like he had been for the past who knows how long.

After the battle, Aziraphale had no idea what had happened until one day he had awoken with Crowley curled up by his side, snoring. The demon had been ecstatic when he found that Aziraphale was fully conscious and brought him up to speed as much as possible before he lost consciousness again. Apparently Aziraphale had been basically asleep for a little over a year, healing.

What had transpired was this; the rebels had won the war, Satan was destroyed, many lives were lost. Though Gabriel wanted to give up his position as a leader entirely, the job was thrust on him anyway. Gabriel agreed but was already training Ramiel to take his place. He did his best to get all those who had been discorporated a new body but it had proven difficult. There just weren’t as many angels and demons available to fashion corporations fast enough and so there were many restless immortals floating about the sanctuary waiting for their vessels.

Crowley's Corporation had been intact, unlike many unlucky soldiers. Minus a few cuts and bruises and a broken bone here and there, Crowley was fine. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had been severely injured. He had been dangling between life and death or rather life and destruction for many months, almost a year entirely. But those who had been assigned as Healers did their job as best they could. Even Crowley, who never left his side, spent a lot of his energy trying to get Aziraphale back into shape.

Had Aziraphale been human, he would have died or been left paralyzed, at the very least. It was still yet to be seen if Aziraphale would recover completely. Although Crowley was optimistic, other healers were of the opinion that Aziraphale would suffer his injuries for the rest of his immortal life. How much suffering was also left to be determined.

It didn’t matter to Aziraphale in the least. As soon as he knew he had survived, he knew he could not ask for more. The fact that his corporation had been healed and restored was a bonus he was truly grateful for because he cherished Crowley’s warm body against his, his moist lips when he dared kiss him. Even if it meant having to manage his pain for the rest of his life, it was worth it, it was all worth it to be with the one he loved above all. Besides, a big part of Aziraphale still felt like he deserved the injuries and the pain for all the wrong he had caused, for losing faith, for losing his grace, for wronging Crowley for so long especially. Crowley would not have understood, so Azirpahle kept silent about it. Because of their relatively new connection, however, Crowley already knew but did Aziraphale the kindness of never speaking on it. Instead, Crowley used actions and loving words to show how much Azirapahle was worthy of being alive and loved.

Aziraphale had stayed silent, staring at his husband with affection, but his eyes widened in shock and he gasped softly when he took in his lover’s disposition. Crowley’s eyes snapped open and he hid his hands as if he were caught stealing from a tin of biscuits. Crowley’s cheeks turned scarlet, he pursed his lips and shifted his eyes nervously.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Hello, angel, did you sleep well?”

Aziraphale cocked a brow and smirked. “Crowley, my love,” he asked cautiously, humour laced in his words, “were you  _ praying _ ?”

The demon could not keep eye contact. He bristled and sniffed. “Don't know what you're on about.”

“I know what I saw,” said Aziraphale accusingly but not hiding his smugness, not one bit. What Aziraphale had seen was Crowley knelt on the floor by Aziraphale’s side of the bed, hands clasped, and lips moving in what was certainly quiet prayer.

“No one will believe you,” Crowley lifted his chin, frowned, and shrugged. “So, don’t bother telling anyone,” he warned.

“And what on New Earth brought this on?” Aziraphale chuckled. His laugh faltered and trailed off when Crowley ducked his head and furrowed his brow as if in pain.

It took a few moments for Crowley to gather his words. “On the battlefield,” his voice was strained. “When you were about to, well, you know.” He looked at Aziraphale, took a breath and continued. “I prayed. I didn't really mean to, it just happened,” he said in a defensive tone, like a child blaming a sibling for their bad behaviour. “And my prayer was answered,” he said softly, taking Aziraphale’s hand in both of his. “So, now,” he sighed forlornly, “I'm stuck praying once a day for all of eternity.”

Aziraphale’s smile returned and he laughed again. “You... bargained with the Almighty? You? The Demon Crowley...”

“Alright, alright. Enough,” Crowley groaned and covered his burning face with his hands.

Aziraphale could not help but twist the knife. “Serpent of Eden…”

“Shut it.”

“...Father of sin,  _ prayed _ to God?” Aziraphale’s wicked grin spread wider as the blush rose to Crowley’s ears.

Crowley lifted his head and rolled his eyes. “I’m a disgrace to my kind, I get it.”

Aziraphale took pity on him and rubbed circles on Crowley’s hand with his thumb. “I don't think She saved me from the holy water, Crowley--”

“Of course she did!” Crowley erupted, standing suddenly and beginning to pace back and forth. “In one way or another, it was Her handiwork. Maybe it wasn’t because I  _ prayed _ , maybe it's because you're,” he flailed his arms wildly, “whatever hybrid you are now, or maybe it's because of our connection, I don’t exactly know, and I don’t give two figs because when it comes down to it, it was Her.” He let out a puff of air and shook his head. “I honestly wasn't thinking when I did it but I promised, I  _ promised _ that I would pray every day if you lived. So, there you go. There you have it.” Crowley looked up to the ceiling of their home. “You win, okay? I’m sure you’re havin’ a good laugh wherever the Heaven you are! Har, har, har!”

Aziraphale reached out and grabbed Crowley's hand when he got close to the bed. “You're right, love,” he said gently. Then he smirked. “But it doesn't mean I don't find it amusing that  _ you _ of all people--”

“Oh, shut it!” Crowley growled but smiled in return despite his distress and embarrassment. He sat down on the bed and grazed Aziraphale’s cheek with his knuckles. “In all seriousness, don’t go telling,” he wagged a finger in warning. “But I've prayed many times before, even after the Fall. Just never got out of the habit,” he said uncomfortably.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand and nodded. “I love you,” he said with as much affection he could muster. Then he gazed around the room. “Crowley, my dear, how long has it been this time?”

Crowley shrugged. “I've been sleeping a lot too. I can't,” he stammered, “I couldn't... without you, everything is just…” he trailed off.

Aziraphale brought Crowley’s knuckles to his lips and kissed each of them. “I understand.”

Crowley ducked his head. “Judging by the number of reports that Moloch brings us, it looks like about fifteen years, give or take a few.”

That meant that Aziraphale had been asleep for about a year since the last time he was completely lucid. “I suppose that's not too bad,” he lamented, “compared to the early days.”

“That must mean you’re healing better, right?” Crowley asked hopefully.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, I think so. I do feel much better every time I wake up.”

Crowley brought his forehead to rest on Aziraphale’s. “How do you feel right now? Do you think you'll stay awake longer this time?” He asked.  _ I’ve missed you so much. _

_ And I you, my heart.  _ “Yes, I do believe I have much more energy today. I'd actually like to try getting out for a bit.” He winced from the pain within him as he sat up with Crowley’s help.

Crowley frowned. “I'd rather you not spend your energy, Aziraphale. I want you to heal quickly. This has taken far too long already.”

“Crowley, I can't stay in bed. I've slept and slept and you know how I feel about sleeping,” Aziraphale grumbled. 

“Then don’t sleep,” Crowley offered. “I’ll make some tea and we can just talk or I can read to you, play some music.” Crowley had already made his way to get the kettle. With a snap of his fingers, the dust that had collected in their slumber vanished.

“Sounds lovely, dear,” Aziraphale murmured as he watched Crowley bustle about their small home.

Crowley was so focussed on his task of making tea and looking for nibbles, that he didn’t notice Aziraphale was staring. Watching him like that always made Aziraphale so grateful to have him and filled him with so much love. Crowley bent low to light the fireplace and Aziraphale’s eyes locked onto his arse. A stirring of lust quickly merged with the love brewing within. His tongue darted out as Crowley’s pyjama trousers slid down, his dimples and a promise of more beginning to peek out above the hem. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale nearly growled, his need was hotter than the fire Crowley was stoking in their hearth.

“Mm,” said Crowley questioningly without looking behind him.

“Would you be so kind as to come back to bed?”

“In a minute, love,” he glanced over his shoulder quickly, “It’ll just take--” Crowley snapped his head around again and gasped. He scrambled to get up, then tried playing it cool by swaying his hips and leaning on a chair. “I know that look,” he drawled. “See something you like, angel?”

Aziraphale was already aching with desire. “Oh, yes.”

Crowley flipped his mussed plait over his shoulder and swaggered toward the bed, hunger in his eyes. “It has been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

_ Fifteen bloody years, _ Aziraphale thought angrily while his cock twitched, sharing his sentiment. “Quite.”

Crowley stopped a foot away from the bed, his expression changing from lust to concern. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, angel.”

“It’s a perfect idea, a splendid idea. The only idea worth thinking about right now. Come here.”

The command made Crowley squirm and his natural instinct to rebel against authority hardened his eyes. “Nope.” He narrowed his eyes further. It was a challenge.

Challenge accepted. “Fine,” he said simply with a shrug, “I’ll just have to take care of things myself.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, aghast. “You wouldn’t.”

In answer, Aziraphale just tore the blanket off his body. He didn’t even need to hoist up his dressing gown, exposing his naked erection. He took himself in hand and asked again. “I ache for you, darling. Come here?” Before he could think better of it, Aziraphale pouted and looked up at his husband through his fluttering lashes.

Crowley barked out a laugh, bounded across the room and brought Aziraphale in for a vigorous embrace. “I’ve missed that,” he sighed happily.

Though shame spiked at his old habit of how to get what wanted from Crowley, Aziraphale took joy in Crowley’s reaction. 

“Anything you like, angel,” Crowley murmured into his ear seductively. “I ache for you too.” He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, removing it from his cock and placed on his own, still clothed. 

It just made it that much more exciting. So many different options played through Aziraphale’s mind. He had no idea when this opportunity would come again. So he chose the quickest option. “Make love to me, darling,” he asked. “Fuck me. I need you now.”

Crowley curled his fingers around his angel’s cock, making him whine and writhe. “I don't want to hurt you. What if,” he offered with a coy grin, “you just lie back and relax. I’ll take care of you.” 

Aziraphale could barely understand through the fog of desire. He didn't really know what Crowley meant but he didn't care as long as he could feel that closeness, Crowley could do whatever he wanted to him. “Anything my love just quickly, please.”

“I love it when you beg,” said Crowley. With a predatory glint in his eye, Crowley removed his pyjama trousers, already hard, and straddled Aziraphale’s lap. 

Aziraphale’s mouth salivated. “I want you in my mouth,” he managed through a rasping breath.

“Ah-ah, you don't call the shots here, angel.” Crowley leaned in and crushed his lips to his lover. He moved his hips closer, grazing Aziraphale’s cock with his own ever-so-slightly, making his angel buck his hips for more. “And when you get better,” Crowley murmured onto his lips, “and you will get better, mark my words, I'm going to get you all riled up over and over and over again. And you won't come without my permission.

Aziraphale sobbed at the thought. He could already imagine Crowley crowding him against a wall, maybe in public, taking him in hand until Aziraphale was begging and then letting him go abruptly only to leave Aziraphale close to his ruin but not quite. It was a delicious idea. And just thinking about it might have taken him over the edge, but he wanted and needed more.

“Yes. Yes. Please.” Aziraphale shuddered, his mounting need taking over. “I don't want to… not yet. Please hurry.”

Crowley stroked silver tresses and tuck them behind Aziraphale’s ears. He pressed his thumb onto his angel’s lips. They locked eyes and then Aziraphale opened for him, then licked the tip of his thumb, and bit down gently. Aziraphale moaned around his digit, making Crowley's eyes flutter with pleasure. “Oh, I just can't wait for the day I fuck you into this bed.”

“Please!”

Knowing that Aziraphale would not last through his preparation, he used a miracle on himself and then grabbed Aziraphale’s cock with a merciless grip. Aziraphale growl and gritted his teeth, his eyes alight with desperation before he shut them tight with effort. Crowley rose and positioned himself. 

“Look at me,” Crowley demanded. 

Aziraphale snapped his eyes open, drunk on lust with eyes half-lidded. “Don't close your eyes and don't look away. Will you do that for me?” Aziraphale nodded. Then, ever so slowly, Crowley descended. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat and his hands flew to Crowley's hips, trying to take control. Crowley tutted and he ripped Aziraphale’s hands off him. Holding Aziraphale’s wrists in a vice-like grip, Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s arms over his head and made him hang on to the bars of the metal bed frame.

“You keep those hands right there,” he warned. 

Aziraphale let out a desperate gasp and grimaced with concentration. “Crowley,” he panted and grunted, “you’re going to end me.”

Crowley slid down further with more control than he thought himself capable of at that point. He watched Aziraphale’s face contort, as if in pain, desperately trying to keep his eyes open and his hands in place.

Crowley's heated embrace slowly swallowing him was driving Aziraphale mad. “Ah! I can't. I can't! I'm I'm--”

“Yes, you can,” Crowley drawled, voice low and encouraging. “For me,” he said gently, but with a hint of an order. “Don't come yet, love.”

Just the words denying him his release nearly discorporated Aziraphale. This is what Crowley deserved, he told himself. To let Crowley have his way with him, demand things from him, for all the times Aziraphale had denied him. He would do what Crowley wanted even if it was going to drive him to insanity. 

Crowley slid down further and groaned. He watched Aziraphale’s mouth drop open into tense O. When he was finally fully seated, Aziraphale let out a wheezing sob that filled Crowley with a dire possessiveness. It boiled his blood, it ran him hot. He stilled and let Aziraphale gain some composure, which wasn’t much.

Aziraphale was gasping, shaking his head and trying to dispel the mounting need for release. “Please, please Crowley. Please move.”

“In a minute, love. I love seeing you like this. Needing me.” Crowley marvelled at Aziraphale’s flushed face sweaty face. His angel was fighting not to writhe and squirm or buck his hips. The strain of it showed on every muscle that twitched on his beautiful face. He was beautiful like this, wanton, desperate, with whimpering soft pleas, gasping for air like a drowning man.

It was becoming impossible to keep himself from coming undone. Aziraphale’s next plea was high-pitched and dire. “Please,” he panted and groaned. “I beg you. I'm begging - I'm begging. I'll do anything, please!”

Quick as a striking snake, Crowley shot his hand behind Aziraphale’s head and pulled on the hair of his neck. Aziraphale screamed with pain and pleasure. He made the mistake of closing his eyes so Crowley gave him another tug and hissed. “Open your eyes!” When he did, Crowley pulled himself up and then slammed himself down. 

It was over. Aziraphale came hard while Crowley only became more relentless with his merciless thrusts on his oversensitive cock, leaving Aziraphale howling through the strongest and longest orgasm he’d ever felt, and that was saying something.

Crowley followed soon after, his walls clamping down and spasming on Aziraphale, making Aziraphale convulse and cry out again through a second orgasm. “ _ Fuck _ ! Oh, fuck! Oh,  _ God! _ ”

They came down from their frenzy and Crowley peeled Aziraphale’s bloodless hands off the frame. He brought then to his mouth, kissed and rubbed the circulation back into his fingers. Crowley chuckled. “Look who’s praying now.”

Aziraphale barked out a tired laugh and barely managed to bat Crowley’s hands away. “Insufferable demon. That was  _ not _ taking it easy.”

“You alright? Too much?” Crowley massaged Aziraphale’s thighs.

Aziraphale chuckled breathlessly. His muscles were loose and he felt more alive than he had in ages. “More than. It was perfect.”

A loud knocking rapped at their door.

Crowley groaned. “That better not be fucking Gabriel!” He yelled at the door.

There was silence and then a muffled, “Erm, what if it is?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh as Crowley strangled an imaginary neck and growled with frustration. “You’re doing this on purpose, you bloody pervert! Piss off and come back next year!”

“You’re lucky we waited for you to finish, you ungrateful prick,” bellowed Beelzebub.

Crowley and Aziraphale could hear chuckling from behind the door, and by the sound of it, it was a large group waiting just outside. 

Crowley looked down at his husband with a cocked brow. “What do you think? Let them in? Maybe let them see us just like this. I bet they'll never knock on that blasted door again.”

“If you’re going to keep at it,” Moloch lilted, “mind if we join in?”

“Disgusting,” Beelzebub groused.

“Might I remind everyone here, there are children present,” said Ramiel.

“Try living with them,” replied Adam, his voice sounding older than when Aziraphale had seen him last.

“You mean you had to hear  _ that _ every day?” Came Pepper’s voice next.

“Several times a day.”

“We’re not  _ really _ children, plus we’ve finally aged a bit,” Wensleydale tried to explain while Brian made retching sounds.

Aziraphale shook his head and sniggered, he was filled with so much love and gratitude at that moment that he could hardly stand to keep it all in. “I love you.”

Crowley beamed down at Aziraphale. “And I love you.” Before he could plant his lips on his husband, another annoying knocking came. “GRRR FINE!”

The husbands righted themselves and finally let them in. They had brought spirits and a large assortment of food. Gabriel filled them in on the progress above while Beelzebub floated behind with a scowl, complaining about not having a corporation yet. Ramiel and Moloch supplied the music, while the Them chattered about nonsense. Soon enough, their small home was filled with mirth and more guests.

Adam took up a chair beside Aziraphale and smiled. He looked just under twenty and was growing into a handsome young man, the light of life back in his eyes. “I’ve been demoted to civilian, I’m afraid. No more dictator duties.”

Aziraphale chortled. 

“What will you do once you’ve healed?” Adam asked him.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley and grinned. “Officially retire, I think.”

“You read my mind,” replied Crowley with an exaggerated puff of air. 

There was still a lot of work to do to get the planet back in shape. Still many left to mourn. Still so much healing to be done. But Aziraphale glanced around at the merry bunch, cramped in their home, squeezed Crowley’s hand, and smiled. 

As long as they worked together, it would turn out all right. 

And it did.

  
  


**THE END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help me self-publish by buying me a coffee: [Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/mordellestories)
> 
> Want early access to all my work including this one? Go to my [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/mordellestories/) and comment on any post with "add me!"
> 
> [Here's my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mordellestories)!
> 
> Read my other fanfic here: 
> 
> [Good Omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/works?fandom_id=27251507)
> 
> [Beetlejuice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/works?fandom_id=2763282)
> 
> [Beauty and the Beast ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483799/chapters/43797364)
> 
> I know I've said this before, but I am beyond thankful to everyone who has stuck around. All of your comments and theories really blew me away. In fact, honorable mention goes to WildRoses2009 for basically predicting almost everything that happened in almost every chapter! XD You had me sweating! lol
> 
> To my little group on Insta, I LOVE chatting with you all. Your messages and encouragement has been a dream.
> 
> [AZERAN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azeran/pseuds/Azeran), YOU ARE MY SAVIOR lol!!! Everyone, check out their fics!
> 
> IMMA CRY YA'LL!!!! This has been one of my favorites to write!!
> 
> I hope you all join me in the next one! 
> 
> XOXO,  
Mordelle


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